


Trial and Error

by SMmoony18



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Beta Wanted, Bittersweet, Bucky Barnes as Captain America, Character Study, Commander Rogers, Emotional Baggage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Extremis, Falling In Love, Guardian of Galaxy Teams, Might have unresolved feeling, Moral Dilemmas, Moral Lessons, Not A Fix-It, Pepper Potts as Rescue, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Infinity War, Regretful Steve, Slow Romance, Steve Feels, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Steve's taking classes, Tags May Change, Therapy, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, questionable leadership
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:17:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8610253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SMmoony18/pseuds/SMmoony18
Summary: It has been almost nine years since Civil War and seven years since the Avengers reunited once again to defeat Thanos in the Infinity War. Now, at a time of relative peace, the never ending re-written Accords still stands, Avenger Institutes all around the world are open for enhanced and inhuman people and the Avengers members are still growing. Yet, despite the years that has passed by, some wounds still lingers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like most of the others out there who were bothered of the Civil War movie, I wasn't the exception. There were couple things that dismayed me, like Steve's questionable choices, not about choosing Bucky (he's awesome), but as a leader of Avengers because I’d admired and cared him as Captain America, not Steve Rogers. This story is for me to come terms with his choices and trying to understand him while dealing the consequences of his actions of the CW that followed him throughout the years.
> 
> Also, give a round of applause for EmuSam for her beta works in this story. Thank you, Sam.

Chapter One:

_Nine Years Later. . ._

Steve found the office a little unnerving. For one, it wasn’t an office per se, not exactly, although the room had the markings of an office: a hardwood desk, armchairs, bookcases filled with books. Beyond that, it was more a chalet—a rather impressive chalet.

Despite his unease with the place, Steve couldn’t help but admire of the magnificence of his surroundings. It looked assembled from sleek wooden logs, and it was larger than two story height, with a vaulted ceiling that pointed skyward. It granted him tall windows, open spaces, and great lighting coming from the sun’s rays filtering inside.

Steve found himself standing at the glass window that covered the entire wall of the end of the office. Beyond it, he saw an autumn forest and a stark blue lake outside that mirrored the sky above. The placid water spanned across for miles, surrounded by smattering houses and buildings. 

It was an odd juxtaposition of wildness with civilization and Steve found unusual for them to mingle. It didn’t seem right. He thought nature should have been left alone—a thing to admire, even to explore, but not to live amongst. 

A door creaked behind him, snapping his thoughts out. He turned to face an older woman—perhaps in her sixties—with coiffed short gray hair. Her sharp business clothes stood out in the middle of the rustic interior of the office. She looked as if she belonged better in Manhattan’s CEO’s office rather than here. Yet, her warm expression indicated otherwise.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, it took me awhile to get everything ready.” She smiled at him, almost motherly, and it grated Steve’s nerves.

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t, but Steve figured polite was better than honest. “I was busy admiring the view.”

She chuckled, glancing at the scenery for a moment. “Yes, it’s rather impressive, isn’t it?” She flicked her gaze at the furniture, gesturing with her hand, “Please, do sit.”

Steve picked one of the chairs in the corner of the room that faced the window and had the door in his view. The older woman picked one across him, folding her hands on her lap with a serene expression.

“My name is Dr. Emily Alloway,” she began, her voice placid. “Has anyone explained to you what I do? Or what I  _can_  do for you?” 

A sort of anxiety began to settle on Steve. “Yes.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Actually, that’s the reason I came here.” 

“Good.” She nodded. “Now, Commander Rogers, tell me why you’re here.”

And there was the panic, hitting Steve hard in the chest when he heard her request.  What if coming here was the worst thing he could ever do? What if going through this would break him to the point where he couldn’t even cope?

He almost left. He was about to stand up to leave this warm office, this lovely chalet, and run far, far, far away from here. But then, Steve thought of Tony. The lines of fear in his brown eyes. The frozen deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face as Steve screamed:  _Come on, Tony. Take my hand!_

“Commander Rogers?” 

He blinked, focusing on her. He couldn’t leave. It wouldn’t be fair for anyone, much less for himself. They deserved better. Somehow, he knew what to do—or rather what to say.

“I . . .  I came to a realization a week ago.” His voice almost cracked. “My teammates don’t trust me.”

The silence stretched out between them, and Steve stared at the wooden floor just near his shoes, unable to look at the doctor’s face.

“I see,” she said after a moment. “Do you know why?”

“I think I have some idea,” Steve answered, his voice tight. “Couple reasons, I guess. Or it's just one thing."  He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I think I haven’t been . . .  a good leader to them. . .” 

As if summoned by his words, Steve could see Rick Jones consumed by an explosion of blue energy. The weariness in Sam’s face and Natasha disappointed expression. Tony’s frozen horror under the beam of light. Bucky’s frantic voice over the comm, full of fear and concern. Steve had to resist the urge to squeeze his eyes to chase the memories away. 

“No, I know I haven’t been a good leader,” he corrected himself and tried not to feel the shame. Eyes stinging with tears, Steve ducked his head and struggled to spit out: “. . . and I’ve been a poorer friend.” 

“Okay,” Dr. Alloway said after a moment, expression neutral as she mulled it over. “What are you going do about it?”

This, he knew how to answer, and Steve surprised her by looking at the doctor dead in the eyes.

“For one, I want to do better.” Resolve was woven in his voice. “I have to do better.”

******

_The sound of metal clanking echoed in the bunker, followed by series of whines of repulsors firing in the air. It grew louder and closer. Bucky could feel the sound vibrate down to his bone as he hammered his metal fist over the titanium alloy. A repulsor flared over his skin, missing him by inches._

_Out of desperation, Bucky dug fingers over the edge of the arc reactor—so close that he could feel the warmth pulsing within his palm._

_Iron Man’s faceplate was up, revealing brown—and too human—wide eyes as Stark realized what was happening—and how powerless he was to stop Bucky, but the anger that refused to surrender was still there._

_Bucky screamed, his arm straining to pull out the arc reactor. Electrical sparks shot out in all directions from the chest plate, the metal protested at the force. Then Bucky yanked it out, followed by a blinding trail of sparks and frayed wires._

_Within Bucky’s palm, the arc reactor sputtered before it went dark._

Bucky woke up and lurched upright up from the chair, shaking like a fragile leaf in autumn. His heart thudded painfully against his chest, trying to regain his bearing. Confused for a moment, he tried to remember. Where was Tony? Was he okay?

Dread grew over him and Bucky felt dizzy.

“Hey man, you okay?”

Spooked, Bucky jerked around, he brought his shield up in a defensive position. The man jerked backward and raised hands in a gesture of surrender before Bucky recognized him.

“Sam?” Bucky frowned. Only after looking around he realized where he was.

Grey walls surrounded him. The place was almost pitch black and cramped with reinforced chairs bolted to the floor. At the end of the room revealed a cockpit with a massive windshield. Bucky could see the stars and a sea of dark clouds outside from where he sat.

He was on the Quinjet.

Then he remembered. He was on a mission—actually, _had_  been on a mission, he reminded himself—and he wasn't alone. There were his teammates, on board with him: Carol Danvers, who was piloting the plane, her expression soft; Hope Van Dyne and James Rhodes, who were both buckled in their seats against the wall, sleeping, dead to the world after long sleepless nights.

T’Challa was the only one who was awake and aware of the situation. He was terribly relaxed for a man on his feet on an unstable plane as he tapped his fingers on the console, his expression blank.

Sam lowered his arms. “Bad one?”

His fingers loosened his tight grasp on his strap and Bucky placed his shield down, next to his legs. “You could say that.”

“You were whispering his name,” T’Challa offered, still not looking up from the console. “Mr. Stark.”

Sam sat next to him and there was a glimmer of concern and pity in Sam’s eyes and Bucky gritted his teeth, resenting it. “Arc reactor again?”

Sometimes, it bothered to Bucky that he had told his teammates about his nightmares. The pity always made him feel weak and unfit as a leader. But once he'd a closer look at Sam’s eyes, Bucky realized it wasn’t pity. It was an  _understanding_. Bucky immediately felt guilty for thinking the worst, because if anyone on the Quinjet understood what was like, it was them.

With a shaky sigh, Bucky ran his fingers over his face. “Yeah.”

“Do you want me to call TADASHI , boss?” Carol asked, flicking the switches above her as she nudged the joystick. “See if he can reach him this time around?”

Bucky shook his head, “No, he said he’ll be out range for at least a week.”

“Actually, Mr. Stark said that as an estimation, factoring time dilation,” T’Challa corrected. “While I don’t know much about the theory of relativity, for we all know, he might be in our system already.”

“Besides, can’t hurt.” Sam leaned his back against the chair, closing his eyes, pretending to doze off for Bucky’s sake.

And sometimes, like today, it moved Bucky as he found himself surprised over and over again by how he understood the depth of their acceptance. It almost made him say yes—almost. But Bucky wouldn’t be so disarmed so easily.

His expression must’ve been obvious because T’Challa looked up and called, “TADASHI? Is Mr. Stark’s signal in range?”

At once, the entirety of the computers and the consoles in the room flashed blue. A pleasant, Japanese-accented voice chimed in, “ _Resilient_  is currently in Earth’s orbit.”

Bucky jerked, his heart pounding and the anxiety from his nightmares had followed him hadn’t quieted.

TADASHI continued on, unaware of the tension in the room, “ETA of re-entry will be in two hours and forty-two minutes. Baring from emergencies and debriefs, he will arrive Stark Tower in three hours and twenty minutes.”

“Even better,” Carol chirped and Bucky wanted to strangle her due to her cheerfulness. “You’ll have that video call you wanted.”

“Is that all, your highness?” TADASHI asked.

T’Challa finally looked at Bucky, meeting his eyes. “That depends.”

Bucky opened and closed his mouth a few times, leaving him feeling edgy with panic. Out of everything, it was the idea of seeing Tony after Bucky had made the decision a week ago which left him on edge and uncomfortable.  It just . . . Tony’s friendship was one of the precious things he’d come to cherish, and he didn't want to lose it due to  _feelings._

The problem was becoming obvious. His teammate had noticed, much to their not-too-subtle pointed suggestions and amused expressions.  Hell, even too oblivious Bruce noticed it. Pepper had probably noticed. Sooner or later, Tony was bound to figure it out.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm his screaming thoughts. He’d made his choice. For better or worse, he was going be honest with Tony. At least that way it would be on his terms and easier to do damage control.

Bucky stared down at his gloved hands and curled them on his lap. He could hear the overlapping metals whir under the glove and something occurred to him. He tilted his head, considering. 

“Actually," Bucky said, glancing up, "I got an idea . . ." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: I'm no shrink or any kind, therefore, I'm no expert but I been at the other side and it gave me lot insight. Hence, Steve in therapy. About time, right? That guy seriously needs it. *Pause* Actually . . . on second thought, all the Avengers members need it. *Shakes head*
> 
> As you probably guessed, Bucky is Captain America and has his own teammates, some old, some new. The world will always need Captain America and the Avengers. Since Steve Rogers is no longer CA, I figured it was time for Bucky to take up the mantle and lead the Avengers, at least in my own version of this world. 
> 
> As for TADASHI, he's another Stark A.I. which I got the idea from [here](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/marvelcinematicuniverse/images/e/ee/FRIDAY_-_A.I_Chip_\(Age_of_Ultron\).png/revision/latest?cb=20160510015933) from the AoU. If you squint, tilt your head to the left, you can find the chip labeled 'TADASHI' on the lower bottom of the image. I looked it up and it seems to reference Tadashi Hamada, a character from a movie called Big Hero 6 and since I'm a big fan of that film, I figured it would be awesome to have something like him as A.I. (Not the baymax A.I., of course). If you haven't seen Big Hero 6, go and watch it. I'm serious. It's so good.
> 
> Just in case: I don't own anything from Big Hero 6 or anything from Marvel Universe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clear any confusion, in this story the Avengers are divided into three sections: Mighty Avengers, New Avengers, and Secret Avengers. Mighty Avengers focuses on investigating dimension/planetary problems that are possibly threat to Earth and they are led by Dr. Strange and Tony, whereas the New Avengers is mostly based on NYC and specializes in defending the earth from outside forces and stopping superpowered villains. New Avengers are led by Captain Marvel and Captain Barnes. Secret Avengers is obviously led by Rogers (who else?) and it's sort of an organization of special forces which consists trained superpowered and enhanced individuals. 
> 
> Of course, there's Avenger Academy which is another matter entirely but I will probably mention it on later chapters.

Tony gazed at the dark blue water of the North Pacific Ocean, lulled by the soft motion of the waves as he stood near the edge of the deck barge sailing on the sea. He craned his head upward to look at the millions of stars through the gaps in clouds in the dark sky and Tony suddenly had the yearning to go back out there again, back in  _Resilient_ —docked somewhere in Earth’s orbit.

Behind him, he heard voices and Tony turned to look at the source. The glider was parked in the middle of the deck, with the rear loading hatch open. The woman’s fiery hair shone with and orange sheen under the runaway’s light as she strutted down the ramp, her crimson leather coat floating dramatically after her.

Her entrance would have been impressive if weren’t for her attempt at a variety of facial exercises so monumentally cartoony that it made hard for Tony not to laugh.

“I’ll never get used how my mouth feels weird just after landing,” Wanda Maximoff slurred as she tried to nudge her lips with her tongue.

“Verily, my friend!” a voice boomed over the deafening noise of the half-powered _Resilient_ ’s repulsor engines as a blonde tall guy with a physique that was both impressive and intimidating stepped into Tony’s view. “‘Tis disturbing how one accustoms in  . . .”  He trailed off.

“Zero gravity,” Richard Rider supplied helpfully. While holding the gold helmet under his armpit, clad in blue and gold militaristic uniform, he was a less intimidating and impressive guy than Thor Odinson,  but no less handsome.    

“Yes, zero gravity!” Thor declared. “See what this gravity’s power hath created now! It is wreaking my stomach afoul!”

“Initially, when I came back from my first space travel, my skin had this strange burning sensation whenever it brushed any fabric or object,” Richard recalled, “Glad this is no longer the case.” 

Vision smiled at Thor serenely as he floated down the ramp, his red skin gleaming eerily in the blinking light. “I believe it’s one of the normal side-effects of your body getting familiarized to Earth’s gravity.”

“Quit your bitching, you bunch of wimps. I don’t get why you’re complaining, you’re home,” a small furry creature grumbled behind them; his weapon was strapped on his back and it was so big that it stuck out at least an arm’s length above his furry head.

Thor turned and blinked down at Rocket Raccoon. “Ah. You make a good point. It matters not, for fate has smiled upon us! We have returned to our rightful place, to our home, Earth!”

Rocket Raccoon glared at Thor. “Don’t make me murder you.”

Amused at the scene before him Tony was content to listen until he felt a crackle of energies wash over his skin—sort of static sensation—and he immediately knew Doctor Strange was nearby. He didn’t have to look to his right to see the doctor standing there.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Stephen commented apropos of nothing. “Why is that?”

“Overview effect,” Tony quickly replied with a shrug.

“The Almighty Tony Stark is overwhelmed by the fragility and veneration of our blue planet? You?” Stephen’s voice was braided with skepticism, “I think not,” he snorted, “Try again. This time, be more convincing.”  

Tony raised one eyebrow. “Even someone like me can get overwhelmed once awhile. I’m not the exception. Neither are you.”

“I would’ve agreed with you if that was the case.”

Tony crossed his arms. “Oh, really?” His voice oozed with pure sarcasm, but internally, Tony was struggling not to be irritated at Dr. Strange, however impossible. It chafed to this day how Dr. Strange always got under Tony’s skin regardless of the fact that they worked together and were close friends. The problem was they were too similar. “Enlighten, me O Supreme Sorcerer, what is then?”

“I believe it’s the opposite.”

Tony’s face shuttered and he had to look away. For a moment, everything was silent as the grave between them.

Finally, Tony sighed, “What gave me away?”

“You have that look. I’ve seen it once.” At Tony’s bewildered expression, Stephen explained, “You’re looking at them—” he inclined his head at the team, unaware of the conversation between them, “—like you did before you got trapped in that pocket universe. You’re memorizing everything . . . as if you wanted to say goodbye.”

It had been one of those dark times for the Avengers and the entire universe. In the last stand against Thanos, nearly every single Avenger, Guardian of Galaxy, Asgardian, Nova Corps, superhero, even  _human_  who fought back was defeated by the power of the Infinity Gauntlet. However, long before that last battle, Tony had that haunted look for months, ever since Thor and Bruce came back after the fall of Asgard, and Stephen hadn’t understood then because he didn’t know Tony well—not like  _now_ —and by the time Stephen did, it had been far too late. Tony had known how it would end. Had known it had to be  _him_  when the mission was supposed to be  _them_ —Thor, Loki, Bruce, Stephen and Tony—holding down the fort while the rest of the last remaining Avengers would avenge them.  Things had gotten too far out their control so fast, and during the chaos, the only person who could make the sacrifice was Tony.  

Sometimes, nights when Stephen couldn’t sleep, he would lie on the bed and wonder if he would have stopped Tony if he had known beforehand. He thought of Tony walking in that place even if it killed him to stay and tried—truly _tried_ —to imagine wielding power that no human should ever wield all alone. Not to die—never that—but to buy them time. Tony had gone, knowing it was a zero point zero, zero, zero, zero and one percent chance of surviving.

However, by some miracle, Tony did survive—badly injured and nearly brain dead. If weren’t for the Extremis virus rampaging through Tony’s veins, he wouldn’t be standing right now, completely sane and almost in one piece. Tony had succeeded when other Avengers couldn’t. The universe was still here because of him.

No, Stephen mused to himself, he wouldn’t have stopped Tony, and hated himself a little bit more for that.

He gave a side-glance at Tony, to see what the man was thinking, but here was nothing on the engineer’s face. With no forthcoming response from him, Stephen continued on, “Also, I heard what Quill offered.”

“Ha! I knew you were listening.”

With a shrug, he admitted, “I was curious.”

“Right, curious from seventy floors up,” Tony said dryly, shaking his head. He was smiling, his eyes crinkling around the edges but something changed, something into a bit more contemplative, “I’m thinking about it.”

Truth to be told, it wasn’t unexpected and yet he had to ask, “Why?”

“I’m happier out there.” Tony looked up at the million stars, then blinked. “No, that’s not right. Not happy. Content, I guess. More than I am here.”

“But?”

“But I don’t want to leave. This is my home.” Tony sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. “It’s just . . . it has been hard to find any reasons to stay here.”

“You've got us,” Stephen pointed out, “You have your friends.  _Resilient._ Your company, your ideas. Your fundraisers.”

Tony nodded, feeling a gratitude wash over him. Despite the years with them, it still astounded Tony that he was part of this family because he never thought he would have something like he did with the Avenger, especially after the “Civil War.” He’d long been resigned to the fact that he would never have another, let alone deserve one. Then the Mighty Avengers proved Tony wrong and it was so much more than he imagined, more than the original Avengers.

It wasn’t to say that Tony’s old teammates were lacking because they weren’t and in some way, they were still his family, just not as paramount as before. The sad thing that once upon a time, Tony and the Avengers were good together—magnificent even—but they weren’t strong enough to withstand the political and emotional storms. In the end, it took so little for everything to fall apart.

For the longest time, Tony had believed history would repeat again, this time with the Mighty Avengers, and there were couple moments when he thought he’d come close to being right whenever they fought, misunderstood, argued, or had disastrous missions, or had outside forces trying to drive them apart, only to be shown despite of everything, they stayed together, stronger than ever. Even at Tony’s lowest moments, the Mighty Avengers stood at his side with their silent support, offering soft encouragement and giving him the incentive to push himself forward, not to give up.

Tony owed the Mighty Avengers more than words could say, but he couldn’t stay for  _them_ , no matter how much he wanted to, because they taught him this. They taught Tony how to take care of himself, not to waste in guilt or live into something fraught with mistrust, lies and resignation like he used to before. They taught him to be honest with them while staying true to his beliefs, and to prioritize himself in the midst of everything, while they had faith in Tony to watch their back in the process.

It made Tony sad, as he’d always loved being part of the Mighty Avengers, being able to explore strange worlds with them, bickering over whose turn it was to cook, gazing at the stillness of the stars from the cupola of  _Resilient,_  or having a showdown with the latest villain of the week.

The problem was that, whenever Tony returned to Earth, he felt aimless, and it seemed to get worse every time he returned. Of course, he was happy to come back home, to breathe the natural oxygen, as well as take comfort in seeing familiar places and surrealness, but at the end of the day, Tony found himself feeling empty, his chest often seizing up with heartache he couldn’t understand, and it bothered Tony because, aside from the emptiness, he was at peace. He’d finally found a place to belong where he was needed and wanted but he couldn’t figure out why he still felt like an unused suit  no matter how much he tried to distract himself by traveling countries, acting as the ambassador for the geo-political climate, pushing and expanding proposals for clean energy solutions all around the world. None of them worked and Tony was beginning to understand there was nothing he could do to make it better.

The cure for emptiness, it seemed, was to be out there, outside his home, beyond New York City and the Earth. It made him feel horrible but as much as he felt guilty, there was a huge part of Tony’s heart that was filled to bursting wonder when the  _Resilient’s_  artificial lights would click on, watching the clean lines of the ship, listening to the hum of the engines and the chatter his friends’ voices. It was when the aches in his heart were nowhere to be found that finally convinced him that perhaps this was what Tony was looking for. He couldn’t bring himself to say any of this aloud, especially to Stephen.

It didn’t matter, because Stephen stared at him with a strange expression on his face, and said quietly: “But it’s not enough, it is?”

 _I wish it was,_  Tony desperately wanted to say, but it was too honest. Just thinking about it made Tony feel truly naked, despite the thick compression undersuit he currently wore, keeping him warm under the salty, chilly winds.

“Tony,” Stephen began, his voice bearing urgency. “Are you—”

“You’re worrying for nothing, Stephenopholious,” Tony cut him off. “Just thinking about it doesn’t mean I’m going to take Quill’s offer. It was . . . nice to dream, for a while there.” Tony didn’t bother to add that he was giving himself some time to revisit the offer later, perhaps in a year or so.  To see if this was something Tony truly wanted and not just byproduct of feelings that gave rose-colored glasses to whenever he was in space and—

He jerked when something pinged in Tony’s Extremis’ matrix, flashing his binary codes into a red color, making his body tense like a string violin.

Stephen must’ve noticed the difference in Tony because he looked at him sharply, his voice alert, “What is it?”

Tony looked up to the night sky with his naked eyes, but he couldn’t see anything until he connected his Extremis to the nearest satellite positioned over the deck barge. Suddenly, Tony was looking down, staring at the layers of clouds apparently more than two-hundred miles below; beyond were hundreds of tiny points of light of the dozens of ships sliding through the sea lanes. It was hard to judge the distance from here and Tony switched to the infrared radar to find the source of his alarm.

As soon Tony did, he immediately found it.

“Quinjet,” Tony announced as he disconnected from the satellite network, blinking. “It must’ve dropped the stealth mode just then.”

“To grab your attention, perhaps.” The doctor glanced up curiously, not even remotely worried. “S.H.I.E.L.D or S.W.O.R.D?”

There was distant look in Tony’s eyes, tilting his head to one side as if he was watching something.  Stephen knew Tony had tapped into Quinjet’s systems. “Actually, ours.”

One well-defined eyebrow rose up. “A simple phone call would’ve sufficed.”

The genius let out a loud snort. “Not when it comes to James. He likes showing off.” Then he must have seen something he didn’t like somewhere in Extremis because Tony’s face fell, rolling his eyes up in annoyance. “Oh, come  _on!”_

The doctor didn’t bother to ask, knowing the answer would be coming soon.

“They’re opening the hatch. It looks like JimJam is going to fly solo.” Almost to himself, Tony muttered under his breath, “Jesus, what with super soldiers jumping off planes? ”

A text message popped in Tony’s Extremis interface. Tony read the content with growing dismay before turning his attention back to the Quinjet’s security cameras, watching the familiar figure inch his way toward the edge of the ramp, looking down into the dark abyss.

“At least tell me he has a parachute,” Stephen requested, having heard his share of stories of the first Captain America growing up. Oftentimes, people had remarked Captain Barnes was eerily similar to his best friend, Steve Rogers, in terms of risk-taking decisions.

“Oh, he has it.”

The tone of Tony’s voice didn’t escape Stephen’s notice and it amused the sorcerer to no end. “And yet, you sound upset.”

“TADASHI was so kind enough to pass James’ message to me.” Tony began to step backward, his left knee aching as he moved. “To quote his exact words: ‘Catch me if you can.’”

“What that supposed to mean?”

“It means I have to catch him before he pulls the rigs.”

“Why?”

Tony shrugged, stopping until he reached to his desired distance. “Beats me.”

“And you’re going to do it,” Stephen noted, his amusement rising.

“He issued a challenge.” Tony said distractedly, still watching through the eyes of the security cameras, “One thing is certain, I don’t ignore challenges. I complete them.”  

Tony saw James look over his shoulder to stare directly at one of the cameras and to Tony’s surprise, James grinned cheekily while dragging his goggles down, fitting them carefully over his eyes. Tony narrowed his eyes when James gave half-salute, half-wave at the camera before he jumped off the Quinjet.

_Son of a bitch._

Tony quickly disconnected from the Quinjet’s systems and looked at Stephen before gesturing at the space between them. “Anytime now.”

The sorcerer didn’t have to ask what Tony meant and he smirked at Tony’s obvious distaste of magic despite years of witnessing it. “Of course.”

Waving intricate moves with his hands, Dr. Strange summoned a golden portal, sparkling into existence few feet from Tony.

“Thanks,” Tony grudgingly said before he plunged completely into Extremis. He felt the sharp muscle cramps in his body disappear almost entirely and his knee straightened before he sprang into a dead run toward the portal. Even with his heart pounding so loud in his ears, Tony possessed sufficient presence of mind to wonder if he had lost his mind.

The deck barge, the night sky, Dr. Strange and his teammates disappeared before his eyes when Tony dove into the portal, replaced by the roar of the wind and spinning speckles of the night sky as though the world were demonstrating strange new dizzying angles for him.

Tony whooped as he tumbled through the skies, his eyes burning in the high-speed wind stream, and with little difficulty, he tried to straighten his body by spreading his arms and legs to stabilize his descent. As soon he balanced himself, Tony could see the world spread below him and the navigation lights flashing from Quinjet about few hundred feet above him and underneath that was the sparkling of the portal. It was still open, waiting for him.

The Quinjet was growing smaller and smaller and Tony looked around for James even in the darkness but it was like finding a needle in a haystack. Tony brought up a projection of HUD over his corneas and immediately it locked on a figure a few hundred meters below him and to his right through the mass of clouds. Tony grinned—or at least he tried to with incredibly strong gusts of wind morphing his smile into something unrecognizable—and pressed his arms to his sides, his legs together, building speed, angling toward James.

Finally, Tony could see James’s colorful uniform with his own eyes below him, freefalling in a spread-eagled position. His HUD calculated James’ terminal velocity at one hundred thirty miles per hour.

Tony kept his legs and arms pulled in until he was even with James and was about to spread his limbs out to maneuver toward James but before Tony could do that, James glanced sideways with his goggles and from even distance, Tony saw James’ mouth stretch into Cheshire grin in a way that didn’t bode well. Then James surprised Tony by flattening his limbs together and rocketed downward in aerodynamic perfection, heading directly toward the earth at a dangerous speed, their gap between them growing bigger and bigger.

Tony cursed loudly but the wind tore his words apart. When James uttered the challenge, Tony hadn't thought he meant it quite literally, but if that's how James wanted to be stupid, then fine, Tony was going be  _stupider._

Tony called his armor; the metals thickened over his undersuit. The faceplate extended and clicked shut over his face as the Iron Man suit enfolded him completely between one second and the next. Iron Man lurched forward, punching Tony’s stomach by the force of the initial thrust when the repulsors roared online.

The gap between them came closer and James was eighty feet below him, four thousand feet to terra firma, according to the HUD’s charts and it kept spitting information of the trajectory, mass, gravity, altimeter in a blink of an eye. If it weren’t for his HUD, he wouldn’t have noticed the detail of James’ red-gloved hands in this distance, his fingers moving to grab the ripcord. Tony’s eyes narrowed into slits behind the faceplate.  _Oh, no you don’t._

Tony forced his repulsors to put an extra burst of acceleration, closing on James like a homing beacon missile and . . .

WHAM! 

Tony slammed into James in a mid-air tackle with a whoop of laughter. Instinctively, James threw his arms around Iron Man’s shoulders in a tight iron grip. Up to this close, Tony saw James’ blue eyes widen with amazement behind the goggles, but despite his surprise, the bastard was still grinning like a fool.

The tackle had caused them to tumble and fall faster even as Tony was trying to stabilize them with the repulsors, his armor compensating for the additional weight and the strain of terminal velocity dragging them down. It took him a few seconds but Tony managed to pull them upward. Then, they were flying through the billowing white mist of clouds, spiraling into a slow aerial dance. Tony heard James laugh in awe, his face open with childlike-wonder, holding closer into the armor with one bionic arm and other spread out to feel the cloud trickle around his fingers, wetting his gloves a little.

It was quieter when they emerged out the clouds and the portal was still waiting for them, glowing in the darkness. As Tony watched the portal’s cascade of sparks swirling in the wind, an idea popped in his mind and it filled Tony with a glee. It was a terrible idea and if Tony was a better man, he wouldn’t do it.

 _But_ , Tony mused with a grin _, James deserves it._

Unaware of Tony’s thoughts, James was enjoying the slow glide, loving the hum of the armor wrapped around him and then, without so much a warning, Tony flung James upward into the air.  An undignified yelp left James’s mouth as he plummeted backward and his hands blindly grasped the empty air. Almost instantly James remembered there was a parachute strapped on his back but before he could yank the release pin, a ring of golden sparks engulfed around him.

The night sky and the stars, the clouds all melted away from James and in a second, he was dizzy from of gold and white brightness that whirred in a kaleidoscopic pattern before his eyes until it showed him a new dreary gray place.

Unfortunately, James arrived the new place by crashing loudly and rolling ungracefully on his back across the deck floor as if the portal had spat him out in disgust when in actuality, Tony overshot in throwing James through the portal.

His abrupt arrival stirred score of laughter, gasps and surprised titters from the members of the Mighty Avenger. Their faces suddenly cropped into James’ vision, staring down at him.

“Welcome, Captain Barnes!” Thor crowed happily, “You are a sight for a sore eye, my friend!”

“Another one? Who invited the ugly human?” Rocket Raccoon eyed him suspiciously.

“Rocket?” James blinked up at him, distracted by the weapon that towered over the creature. “What the hell're you doing here?”

Rocket scowled. “Why I wouldn’t be here?”

“He’s here because he’s being an idiot,” Richard interjected bluntly, his tone saccharine. “Isn’t that right, pet?”

“Keep saying pet and you’ll be sleeping with one eye open,” Rocket threatened.

“I’ll like to see you try.”  Richard curled his fingers into a fist as white energy crackled between the gaps of his fingers, his eyes glinting wickedly.

“All right, children. Playtime’s over,” Iron Man’s modulated voice announced, and his boots clomping on the floor became audible. “Daddy’s here.”

Vision turned his head, lines of his synthetic brows raised, his expression amused as he attempted for humor. “If you’re our father, does that make Doctor Strange our mother?” Someone choked back a laugh—possibly Rocket Raccoon. There was a slap somewhere and a loud protesting yelp—possibly Wanda smacking the back of Rocket’s head, but James couldn’t tell from his position.

Someone choked back a laugh—possibly Rocket Raccoon. There was a slap somewhere and a loud protesting yelp—possibly Wanda smacking the back of Rocket’s head, but James couldn’t tell from his position.

“Dear god, no,” Dr. Strange answered with distaste.

“The doctor is right,” Thor declared. “He’s the least warm person I ever knew and I was raised with Loki.” There was a brief pause before Thor added as an afterthought, “No offense.”

Iron Man’s head popped into James’ vision, the slit of his blues eyes glowing down at him. “All right, give the man some space.”

“Tin-man,” James mock-greeted, “thanks for the ride,” he continued sarcastically, watching other teammates move away from his view. “It was an asshole’s move, asshole.”

“So was sending that message, princess,” Iron Man shot back, leaning forward to stretch out his hand to James.

Grunting unhappily, James slapped his bionic hand over the gauntlet and very gently, Iron Man curled his metal fingers around James’, tugging him up. When James was on his feet, he knocked Iron Man’s chest plate with his knuckles. “Take it off.”

Even with the sleek armor, it was never hard for James to figure out that Tony was uncomfortable at this request. “Uh, why?”

“So I can admire your majestic beard,” James replied sarcastically before he took a pause, narrowing his eyes. “Since when are you shy? I’ve seen you buck-ass naked,” he pointed out, trying for a more teasing tone, but to James’ ears, it sounded bit strained. It didn’t help that his mind was jerk enough to conjure that fateful day when Iron Man’s armor malfunctioned, leaving Tony naked as the day he was born. James couldn’t help but recall Tony’s planes of skin and muscles, the dip and rise of his collarbones, the curves of his back and the dusty dark hair on his lower belly, trimmed neatly and trailing down to—

“The problem is, you do have the tendency to indulge your violent tendencies,” Tony’s voice cut off James’ dirty thoughts. “Once I step outside the suit, I don’t know whether you’re going to punch me or give me a noogie after what I did just then.”

James blinked back to the present, swallowing at the memory. “I’ve considered it,” he deadpanned, grateful for once his voice sounded normal. “Guess you’re gonna to take chance, will ya?”   

There was a lengthy pause and then, “Nope, can’t do it,” Tony admitted. “How about a compromise? Just the faceplate up?”

James shook his head. “All of it. Come on, I dare you.”

“What are we? In high school?” There was a note of incredulity in Iron Man’ filtered voice. “Oh wait, is it my turn to paint your nails hot pink and fawn over boys?” Iron Man made a gesture with one hand over his chest plate in sort of feminine fashion. “Can we gush over Pantheress hotness ratio during our sleepover, watch the ‘Notebook’ and have our lovely hair braided? I have to warn you, I do make a  _mean_  triple French braid.”

“He does!” Thor chimed in suddenly, surprising everyone, including Tony. “It was most impressive! Darcy was kind enough to take pictures of my hair with her cellular telephone.” Beaming beatifically, Thor pulled his phone out his pocket that looked so tiny on his huge hand, “Shall I show to you?” 

If it weren’t for the faceplate, Tony would’ve facepalmed just then. Instead, he turned his head to look at Thor, “Dude, you’re not helping.”

“I double dare you,” James challenged.

Returning his glowing gaze back to James, “That’s not gonna work on me.”

“Why?  _Scared_ , Stark?”

“What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me.”

Silence suddenly reigned in the open space and it stretched out between them and suddenly Iron Man’s blank faceplate seemed more intimidating with black and gold impassivity.

“ _Fine.”_ Iron Man finally bit back.  Just like that, a whirring sound emitted from the armor, followed by lot of clicks as the metallic alloys melted into liquid gold, only to fade away into black undersuit and skin. When the last metal plates, wires, gears and circuit board vanished, Tony Stark stood before James, jaw set, his hands balled into fists and brown eyes flashing with pure stubbornness and determination. “Well?”

The unwilling spectators, Wanda, Rocket Raccoon, Vision, Richard, Thor and Dr. Strange were watching the standoff between them with morbid amusement; more than one of them was expecting Tony to be punched or something violent.

And then James and Tony were both  _laughing_  and  _hugging_. It was James who gathered Tony first, engulfing him into his arms, tucking his face on Tony’s neck as close as possible. Tony went into the embrace willing, throwing his arms around James’s shoulders and gripped him tightly.

Rocket Raccoon gaped at them. “What just happened?”

“Oh, you’re seeing this for the first time?” Wanda inquired, not even slightest perturbed at the scene before her.

“Whadda you mean the  _first_  time?” Rocket Raccoon barked, incredulous, “Are you saying this is  _normal_?”

“For us? No,” Richard replied. “For them? Yeah.”

“Agreed,” Thor began, “it’s their—what do you call it? Modus of operandi, right?” He glanced around for confirmation. After few chorus nods from the rest of the teammates, Thor resumed, “Yes, modus of operandi—first, they dole their tantrums like dangerous toddlers, provoking each other with trickery, insult or dares and then they do this.” He thumbed at the hug that lasted way past the time limit for the unspoken rules of conduct between two grown men.

Wanda gave Rocket Raccoon a rueful smile, “I think they did as joke at first. It took us awhile to realize they were playing us, but even after we knew of their little games, they kept doing it.” Wanda paused for thought. “I guess they sort fell into this habit and it stuck to this day.”

“For one, I’m very grateful they toned down the insults and the death threats regardless of the fact it wasn’t serious as I thought.” Vision informed him, “It was quite . . . worrying.”

“That’s . . .” Rocket Raccoon glanced to Captain Barnes and Tony, who finally ended the hug, but they were still close. Barnes’ arm was thrown over Tony’s shoulder as Tony chattered about something with manic excitement. It looked . . .   _weird_ , especially the way Barnes was looking at Tony—all fond and— _oh._ “Well, shit.”

“Welcome to the team.” Dr. Strange gave him a knowing smirk.

Rocket Raccoon froze just for a moment before he exploded, “I’m not one of you guys!” he nearly shouted, clearly offended. “I’m just taking a temporary break from those idiots out there.”

“Whatever you say, pet.” Richard patted Rocket Raccoon’s head mockingly.

“That’s it!” the small creature yowled angrily. He grabbed his weapon from his back, and the muzzle glowed menacingly. “I will murder  _you!”_

*****

It was a movie night, as per the Mighty Avenger tradition when they came back home. One of the rooms of the Stark Tower was crawling with Mighty Avengers’ members after Rocket Raccoon and Richard declared truce under duress when Wanda ripped them a new one (although, Thor had been disappointed the fight had ended before it started).

All of the Avengers were sitting on the chair in the state-of-the-art home theater—undoubtedly maintained by Pepper--  but none of them were paying attention to the movie, and were sharing cold of beers and varieties takeout foods with each other when Tony limped back into the room with another six pack of beer in just in time to hear James cut Dr. Strange’s explanation with an exclamation.

“Wait, wait. Let me get this right.” James had that a wrinkle in his forehead. “You’re saying that Quill and Gamora thought it was a good idea to convince an entire race of Elmhold that Groot was their  _god?”_

Tony couldn’t help but grin at James’ horrified tone and answered for him, “Yup.” He set the six pack of beer on the coffee table that was partially covered by takeout containers and collapsed into one of the chairs, his limbs sprawling everywhere. “To excuse them, they did that to avoid being shot upon sight.”

“And they just gave him the mace—”

“Sharur.” Rocket Raccoon supplied the name before throwing the half-eaten crust on the pizza box with a sneer.

“Sharur, right.” Incredulously, James went on, “They gave Groot a weapon so powerful that it had the power to bend the reality of that planet? Sort of like Thor’s Mjolnir but at greater scale?”

“Yes.” Thor burped his word loudly after gulping down a beer.

“Let me guess, it backfired?”

 _“Enormously.”_ Tony couldn’t enunciate enough. “The mace drove Groot insane. Gollum type of mad but less murdery.”

“I was trying to reason Groot to come back from lala land.” Rocket Raccoon scratched at the side of his furred face with one of his claw. “But I guess the people of Elmhold didn’t like it because they kidnapped me the next day to shut me up.”

“That’s where it backfired.” Dr. Strange took a shot of his whiskey with one gulp before shuddering at the burn. “Their actions upset Groot and he went into rampage looking for his friend. Tsunami. Eclipses. Volcanos. Typhoons. Earthquake. You name it, Groot caused them all. It took nearly a submerged continent of another side of the planet to scare a small people who were responsible for his kidnapping to hand Rocket Raccoon back into Groot’s arms in order to stop his rampage.”  He poured liberally on the cup. “It didn’t work at all.” Stephen downed it quickly. “Groot submerged it anyway.”

“Atlantis Two,” Richard commented with expressions ranging from morbid fascination to shell-shocked. 

James winced, looking at Rocket with a sympathetic expression. “Jesus. I don’t blame you for being mad at them.”

“It didn’t help that they didn’t take me seriously when I disagreed the plan from the start,” Rocket muttered mutinously before he broke off into a yawn, nearly cracking his jaw.

“Shall I get coffee for you?” Vision offered graciously, indicating the coffee pot sitting on the floor next to Dr. Strange’s chair.

Rocket shook his head, “No,” he sighed wearily, “I think it’s time for me to head to bed.”

“You know where it is, right?” Richard asked with a smirk. “Or do you need to hold my hand after I tuck you in?”

“Screw you,” Rocket shot back with a deadpan, “And yes, I know where my room is, thank you very much.”

“Good, you’re sharing.” Richard rubbed his face with his hands, ignoring as Rocket Raccoon protested. “I’m beat.”

“Me three.” Wanda stretched like a lazy cat before she climbed to her feet from her floor, nearly stumbling on the process. She let out a sheepish giggle with cheeks flushed. “Maybe I shouldn’t have drunk that last beer.”

As she walked, her legs moved like a shaky Bambi—all wobbling legs and no coordination—and she veered to the opposite direction. Dr. Strange sighed and went to steady Wanda. “Come on.” He steered her in the right direction. “I’ll take to your room.”

While Richard and Rocket Raccoon bickered, Dr. Strange paused to give  a contemplative glance to Tony before heading out with Wanda, followed by Rocket Raccoon and Richard.

Thor gulped his last beer and belched again. “This was a fine beer.” He patted his hand on Tony’s shoulder,  _hard,_ nearly sending Tony sprawling to the floor. Thor reached for Tony, perhaps to straighten him up; instead, he hauled Tony him upright and pulled him close into a squeezing hug. “Well met, Son of Stark! Keep me updated of any Avenger’s affairs. I am going to visit Asgard.”

“Ow.” Tony winced as the air went out from him, Thor’s beard rasping uncomfortably on his right cheek. “Sure thing, Jani Lane.”

Thor plopped Tony back to the chair and before James knew what was happening, Thor closed his distance in long strides and he too was swept into Thor’s muscular arms and squeezed for a few seconds before Thor let him go. “It’s good to see you, James.”

Thor’s friendliness still took James off guard and he stared up at him. “Yeah. Good to see you too, Thor.”

The god of thunder’s flip-flops smacked loudly against the floor, fading away in the distance, and then it was quiet, stretching out in the room. James exchanged a glance with Tony and he realized that if it weren’t for Vision, this would be a perfect moment to have this “talk”. Once he started thinking, James was terrified of the idea being left alone with Tony, and  _shit_ , there was panic, pounding in his heart.

What if this was the last time James laughed and shared beers with Tony? God, it would be terrible if that was remotely possible but for some reason, James knew he was being ridiculous. He looked at Tony, who was content to stare back at him. Really looked at Tony. James found his throat was tight, heavy with emotion. James almost forgot one of the best and the worst qualities of Tony.

His devotion.

Put this simply, James realized he needed to stop being an idiot because Tony would never be appalled or judge him for having feelings. He never had, not once ever, since they became friends, and it hadn’t been easy, considering their history with heaps of emotional baggage to grit their teeth and sift through.

It was the Infinity War that changed everything—not much, but enough to impact the dynamic of their relationship and force them into another territory.

During the war, much to their displeasure, they were a brilliant team on the battlefield. At one point, when most of the Avengers were down—due to the initial attack from Thanos—James and Tony had been forced to coordinate their offenses and defenses together so brilliantly that both emerged from the bloodiest battle of the first wave without serious injury. It was an accomplishment that neither Avengers, nor Commander Rogers, nor even Hulk could claim, since they had been among the first rendered unconscious. Off the battlefield, Tony and James had developed some sort of truce and grudgingly paired off for the second wave of the war.

Eventually, that truce grew into respect mixed with a load of guilt and shame; then it moved into admiration and solidarity—or as Thor would say, a word that portrayed both of them appropriately: “shield-brothers.”

Now, Tony was a person who James could turn to and confide in, rather than pretend everything was fine.  Surprisingly, in return, Tony did the same which amazed Pepper and Rhodey to no end; they insisted to James that Tony wasn’t the kind person who trusted others easily, which was a testament to how far they both had come.

At that thought, James felt a little brave and cleared his throat nervously. “Viz, can I talk Tony alone for a sec?”

Vision blinked, seemly shaken from his musing and he readily agreed after a beat. “Of course.” He tilted his head thoughtfully as he walked out. “Perhaps, it would not be remiss for me to visit Ms. Van Dyne.”

Tony watched the android leave, his expression uncomfortable when he turned to face James. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. It just—we need to talk.”

Tony squirmed at this, his face a mix of emotions: discomfort, vulnerability, confusion and more that James couldn’t even categorize. Then Tony said something that was apparently out the field. “Is this about Minton’s in Harlem?”  

“That’s not what I wanted to—wait,  _what?”_

“Oh, it’s not that you were talking about?” Tony rushed in nervously. “Then never mind.”

“ _Minton’s?”_ James recalled the smoldering ruins of the club and assumed it was the work of the untrained superpowered individual. Possibly a teenager.

“First, let me state for the record that this wasn’t my idea at all, it was Luke fault— as unbelievable it is, I’m innocent in this case—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on there.” It never failed surprise James how Tony made him feel as if he was standing in middle of a hurricane.

Tony went on, as if he hadn’t heard James, “—actually, that’s not true. It was Diamondback’s fault—or Striker, whichever you prefer—”

“What did you—” James stopped himself and narrowed his eyes, listening to Tony blather on in rapid-chatter that only Pepper could translate.

He wasn’t the best Winter Solider just because of his brawn or his kill-count. His intelligence had been the biggest part behind it. Concealment, covering his tracks, spying, fishing secrets—all of it, he had been good at it. James could always deduce the unspoken things behind the gesture, the silence behind the gesture, the intent from the body language tells and tics before anyone could put action behind the sentiment, no matter how foreign, powerful and intelligent they were.

For instance, James knew Tony was deflecting just now. Tony was a proficient liar, looking straight at him without balking or blinking as he babbled, his face was a perfect mask of nervousness and exuding sincerity, his shoulder slumped, his naked arm still and loose. However, his left hand, one of his index finger, it twitched—one of his tells.

Oh, he was that good, but not  _that_  good.

James was impressed but also disappointed. James could talk Tony about anything and nothing, except conversations that followed the phrase of  _we need to talk_  because—to Tony’s perspective—it equaled _you’re screwed. And it’s your fault. No two ways about it._

“Nice try. It almost worked.”

Miraculously, Tony stopped talking, at least for a moment, and then he said quickly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Look, it’s nothing bad,” James began, “I mean, I don’t think it’s  _bad_ —either for you or for . . .” he stammered as he searched right words were intelligible enough to make his point across but he wasn’t sure where to start. A small silence followed between them, and while it was obvious Tony was waiting for him to open the topic with reluctance, all James could manage was to stare at him, distracted by Tony’s adorable crow’s feet near his incredibly brown eyes. It made Tony’s expression oddly soft and strangely fragile and—

“You know, that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.” Tony donned a self-deprecating smile. “Can we have this talk without me present? I mean, I could leave and you just chat to this . . .” Tony gestured the surrounding with his hand, “. . . room. Or chair, whatever you prefer. Pretend like I’m here. Problem solved!”

“Nope.” James raised his brows at the ridiculous suggestion, regardless that his heart was beating hard against his chest or the fact that his palms felt clammy. “I need you here.”

Tony sighed. “All right, give me a second.” He grabbed the blanket that was thrown over the armchair and draped it over him, like a parody of the infamous _“I can see dead people_ ” as Tony braced himself, squeezing his eyes shut. “Okay, I’m ready. Go ahead.”

James rolled his eyes at Tony’s theatrics and then took a deep breath. “Right, um.” James winced at the crack in his voice and tried to clear it with a cough. He’d rehearsed a well-worded speech before coming here, words he’d picked carefully to ease Tony into a conversation in a way that wouldn’t scare his friend away for good but his mouth opened before his mind caught up. “Ihavefeeingsforyou.”

Tony popped one eye open then blinked both, frowning. “What? I didn’t catch it. Can you say again? This time slower—oh god. Are you green?”

“I’m fin—”

“You look like you’re going to puke? Please, don’t puke.”

“Tony—”

“You don’t have to talk if this makes you uncomfortable. See? I knew it was a bad idea all around to have this talk—”

“Would you just—”

“—wait, I got a better idea.” Tony looked up at the hidden camera he placed in the room, “TADASHI, can you bring up the voice recording about ten seconds before this and slow down about—”

“I have  _feelings_!” James blurted again in near shout, annoyed that he was being steamrolled by Tony. He froze when he realized he’d said aloud and facepalmed, feeling the burn rise on his cheeks. 

Tony looked completely taken aback. “Uhh. . . good to know?”

“For you,” James finally finished, figuring he’d embarrassed himself enough that he had nothing to lose. He let his hands fall over his lap and looked up at Tony at the eyes. “I have feelings for  _you.”_

Tony stilled, blinking rapidly as he processed this. After a long tense moment of silence, he asked seriously, “For the sake of clarity, what kind feelings?”

It was a fair question but it still left James feeling defensive. There was a glass window just a few feet from him and James had to resist the urge of throwing himself through it and mustered a reply, “Romantic ones.”

“Romantic, like . . .”

“Don’t be so dense. It doesn’t suit you,” he growled, upset that Tony could even toy this— 

“I’m not. Not on purpose.” Tony cut off James’ dark thoughts, incredulity oozing in his voice. “It’s hard to believe that you could—”

“—like you? Well, yeah. I do.”

“You like me,” Tony repeated to himself, staring past him at the wall with a distant expression as he tried to take the information at face value. Eventually, Tony seemed to come back to himself. “Of course you do. Who can blame you? I’m awesome. Have you seen this face?” Tony twirled his finger in the air around his handsome features. “It is a truly work of art.”

James twisted his lips into a smile, a little amused and relieved that Tony went for levity in an attempt to assuage the awkwardness between them. “I’ve seen better,” James deadpanned.

Tony made a fake wounded sound, hands shooting up to cover his chest, murmuring something about “right in the feels.”

Still, James wanted to drive his point home, “Personally, it’s not your look that made me interested in you first place. It’s you, Tony—the idiot asshole who is so brilliantly strong that it’s almost unbelievable. You, who cares too much about everything and everyone even those who don’t deserve your kindness in the first place. Just  _you_.” James gave Tony a tiny, awkward smile. “Although, I won’t deny your looks are a plus.”

Slowly, Tony’s eyes grew wide open, as if someone had shifted and realigned his world upside down. It took James a while to realize that he had successfully rendered Tony speechless.

James leaned forward to sit his elbows on his legs and took a deep breath. “Look, I won’t be offended if you don’t feel the same,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady. “This confession shouldn’t make you feel obligated to give me anything in return. I know you won’t, not with our history. I just wanted you to know.”

“Why?” Tony finally spoke hoarsely after a long silence.

Huffing in one long gust of breath, he said, “Couple reasons.” James stared down at his hands, following the lines and the metallic surface with his eyes. “People were starting to notice. I suspect my teammates know and out respect for me, they’ve kept their mouth shut. Hell, even the baby-vengers were on to me and I heard comments here and there. I knew sooner or later, someone was going to slip it around you.” He closed his fingers into a fist, watching distractedly at the plates shifting into an almost seamless pattern. “I would rather have you hear it from me than have you confronting me, asking me if it was true.”

“Would you have told me straight?”

It took a few worrying seconds as James contemplated the question seriously. “I would like to think I wouldn’t lie to you but to be honest, I don’t react well if I’m put on the spot like that.” James paused with a frown and then shook his head. “I don’t know. This is why I came to you, because I don’t want to put myself in any situation that could cause that particular scenario. At least this way, it ends on my terms.” He finally glanced up to look at Tony but found nothing behind the genius’s blank expression. “If it helps, I don’t want to lie to you. As long I’m capable and a sound of mind, I’ll do my best to be honest with you.”

They both sat frozen for a moment that seemed to last for hours, staring at one another in complete silence before Tony flickered his eyes to his jeans, downcast. “It does,” Tony admitted with a whisper. “I . . .  that’s not . . .” he struggled for words, pausing to take a nervous breath, “I don’t know what to say.”

James wasn’t sure if he could list everything he was feeling right at this moment as the words registered in him. Disappointed, maybe but not exactly. It was oddly reminiscent of the day when James was staring through the broken glass of Helicarrier, watching as Steve fell, fell and fell  _down._ Fear, confusion, sadness and a sweet pain that ached to the bones. But there was a gratitude that hadn’t been there before and a sense of pure relief.

Staring at Tony’s eyes—filled with concern and anxiety—James knew that everything was going to be okay. It might be awkward for a while between them but James was confident they would relearn to navigate back to familiar territory. James wasn’t going anywhere and he was absolutely sure neither was Tony because one thing James could always count on is that their friendship was stronger than rejection and unrequited feelings.

“You don’t have to,” James responded with a smile and threw the fortune cookie directly at Tony. “That’s the point, idiot.”

The fortune cookie hit accurately on Tony’s chest. “That was uncalled for,” he groused as he picked up the cookie from his laps but there was no heat in his voice. To James’ surprise, there was a tentative shyness in Tony’s expression that James found bit endearing. “Thank you . . .  for telling me.”

Letting himself relax, James chuckled, “You’re welcome, Atlas.” And with a slight teasing tone, which James hoped would distract Tony enough to change the subject, “Really? Minton’s?”

A surprised laughter escaped from Tony’s lips and it made James break into a toothy grin.  

*****

“Correct me if I’m wrong, you think the Accords was  the cause of the divide between Avengers teammates.”

“Yes.”  

There was a small pause behind him. “You never explained why you were against the Accords.” Another pause. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Steve tore his gaze from the placid lake scene from the window to stare at the doctor sitting in the armchair. Then he blinked distractedly before the words registered, straightening his back. “It’s rather complicated.”

Dr. Alloway studied him dispassionately. “So is the reason why you’re here in first place,” she pointed out and Steve couldn’t hide a flinch at that remark. “Regardless, that answer is not acceptable. You’re hedging.” 

Sighing, he leaned against the chair, his expression grim. “I guess . . . I was against them because I used to believe in authority bigger than us.” He smiled bitterly at his own naivete. “But time and place had shown me I was wrong to place my faith in them. I’ve witnessed corruption in any facet of governance or agencies that were supposed help the people, help the world. Instead, I discovered they were helping themselves, driven by their own agendas to obtain more power, men who used truth in any variations to suit their needs.” He recalled Fury and the story of his grandfather in the elevator. “If that wasn’t the case, then control and distrust toward people.”

“Interesting.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Did you witness this corruption inside the United Nation or something similar?”

“Yes,” he said automatically but then he blinked as her words registered with him. “No? Not directly. I’m not sure.” He frowned. “I get the point you’re trying to make. I know the UN is different from any organization I dealt with before, but S.H.I.E.L.D. was one of the biggest and best intelligence agencies ever to exist and they were infiltrated by Hydra to the top and nearly caused massive assassinations on U.S. soil. If S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn’t withstand the breach, how is the United Nation supposed to be any better?”

The doctor tapped her fingers on the armrest as she processed this. “Okay,” Dr. Alloway said, “explain what the UN is with your own words. What are they, or more importantly, what they do?”

The question took Steve aback because it felt she was veering off the subject entirely and he was about to point this out to her but she gave him an expectant look that brooked no arguments and the question on the tip of Steve’s tongue died upon seeing her expression.

He wasn’t stupid, Steve knew what she was trying to do and felt it was a pointless topic to broach upon, but regardless he answered it. “The UN are peacekeepers between countries formed by different sovereign states. Their purpose is to avoid another conflict like WWII.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes?” Steve floundered, sensing that he missed something. “That’s what they do. Should there be more?”

She raised a single eyebrow. “Of course. For one, how they do operate? Do they work as intelligence agency? Or are they like the US government? Military? Paramilitary agency? What is their structure of organization?”

Steve frowned because he wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I suppose they’re government . . .  sort of.”

“So, in other words, you have no idea how they work.”

He flushed, embarrassed. “No.”

“Let me get this if I have this right. You opposed the UN and their Accords without knowing what they do?”

“It doesn’t matter what they do.” Steve sighed because it was a belief he had defended over and over again and he was weary. “I was afraid the Accords would prevent us from protecting and helping the one in need.” 

“And what make you so sure the UN or the Accords would prevent you in this?”

“Because in reality, signing it would forfeit any action any member of the Avengers could take—whether to save one person or thousands—because every country has the incentive to block us at some point to make our intervention or use us for a political purpose.”

“If that’s the case, what would’ve stopped you if you guys realized you were used as political pawns? Or being blocked from doing whatever you wanted to do? Would you’ve remained passive?”

“No, of course not. We would’ve ignored it regardless of our orders.”

“Would that include the Avengers who supported the Accords?”

“Yes,” Steve said confidently. “As much we disagreed, one thing prevailed that rendered every argument moot, which was: saving others.”

“Then why did you think signing it would stop you?”

“It would’ve made our life harder.”

“Based on your reports, not signing made your life even harder than otherwise,” she pointed out matter-of-factly. “At worst, it would’ve brought you time to make your voice heard while proposing a better solution for the Avengers while adhering to the public’s demands.”

Steve thinned his lips. “I didn’t know then . . .  I know it sounds like bullshit, but honestly, I thought they  sure as hell weren't going listen to me.” He tried not to tense his jaw, recalling the placid smile of Senator Brandt, Colonel Philip’s refusal, and Fury’s dismissive look when Steve tried to take the initiative or voiced his concerns, or the horror he felt when he heard the WSC had sent a nuke to New York City. “Still, even knowing that, I wouldn’t have signed it.”

“Why not?”

“It wasn’t right, back then, before it was amended,” Steve said, frowning, not liking how it sounded out from his own lips but he didn’t know any other way to phrase his thoughts. Not wanting to end like this, he continued, “I still have some reservations after they did the overhaul of the Accords. I won’t say it’s bad. In some aspects, it is better than the first or the second or the third amendments. To this day, there are limitations we didn’t have before and it is a bit trying to appease everyone knowing at the end of the day, no one is going be happy.”

“That’s rather bleak way of thinking.” 

Steve looked up at the older woman, trying to gauge what the doctor was thinking, but there was nothing there except curiosity. She stared back with her neutral expression, strangely distant; her hair was still perfectly arranged, manicured fingers lay lax on the armchairs as she sat there. In some way, her calmness bothered Steve since he felt raw down to the bone and he wanted to push his feeling to her enough to rattle her serenity.  However, at the same time, he was glad she remained untouchable and distant enough to provide him a sounding board.

“I would like to propose something,” she stated. “An assignment.”

Steve nodded, waiting.

“It’s rather unorthodox,” Dr. Alloway admitted, her expression careful. “You might not want to do it and I will understand if you refuse to. However, before I say anything, I want to remind you to hold back your first and second instincts and give it the due consideration it deserves, and  _then_  you decide.”

Suddenly uncomfortable, Steve squirmed in his seat and wanted nothing more than demand what she meant by that but he stifled the urge.

“The assignment is:  go to all of the Avengers-UN liaison offices and watch how they run— all the way to the top and to the bottom. If they move to the field, go with them if you must.”  

Steve froze and opened his mouth then closed, at loss. “Why?”

“I believe it’s good for you,” Dr. Alloway responded simply.

“I—” Steve stumbled, confused. “Yes?”

She held her hand up. “Don’t say yes, yet. I don’t want you to agree on something because you feel you have to or that perhaps you think that I ‘know’ better. I don’t, Steve. Yes, I may be a qualified doctor, and I understand you in some ways, but I don’t know  _you._ Not completely. Only you know what’s ticking behind your head.” She leaned her back against the chair. “Take couple days and really think through.”

Dumbstruck, Steve stared at her for a long moment before he took a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Good.” She smiled blandly and suddenly, Steve was reminded of Phil Coulson. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always liked Extremis Tony! In this particular version of extremis is slightly advanced than MCU world, for instance, I borrowed some idea from the marvel comic, like Tony's enhanced [vision](https://imgur.com/VRc1W9h). 
> 
> Also, I had fun with Tony's and Stephen's relationship considering they're mostly written as frenemies on most fanfiction I've read so I went a bit little differently this time around, besides, I would like to think the Infinity War helped some relationships end a slightly better than before, like James' and Stephen's friendship with Tony. At least, I hope it would (looking at you guys, screenwriters of Infinity Wars!)
> 
> And yes, Wanda is part of Mighty Avengers and before you gasp, faint, or shout your outrage in comments sections, might I remind you that there's an explanation for that which will be featured in later chapters. No, Rocket Racoon is not one of the Avengers. He is currently taking a break from GoG, or rather specifically, Peter Quill and Groot. 
> 
> Poor Rocket.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter dives into the superhero affected political climate and tried to stay true to the United Nation as I could, based on research—and boy, it was long weeks with sleepless nights here and there. That said, Google and Wikipedia offer only so much and since the today geopolitical climate is ever changing, I’m aware some parts might sound absurd to someone and that’s absolutely okay, considering I’m no political savvy or even remotely close to it. Just remember, this is my interpretation of the intergovernmental organization in the MCU.

“Did you consider my proposal?”

A tapping sound stopped at the question and Steve frowned. He hadn’t realized he’d been tapping his fingers on the armrest in a nervous beat, “Yes. I did.”

“And?”

Although it pained him, he smiled anyway as he felt the return of the unpleasant emotions he had been struggling since Dr. Alloway’s proposal and made a point of letting the irritation linger a moment, before taking a deep breath. Really, Steve wasn’t so much annoyed at the idea of visiting the UN headquarters as he was irritated at himself because despite all these years, he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable that people still believed in the Accords.

Logically, he knew the Sokovia Accords made sense in theory _._ In _theory_. It was nice theory, to have check and balances but Steve was aware that it was nearly impossible to control enhanced individual to international regulation—at least the way the UN planned to—and time had proven again and again that the Accords didn’t hold much credibility  in real world, therefore, he saw no point of it.  

It didn’t matter, though, the Accords still existed. Had for years. And judging his past experiences and current political climate, it was going stay there for more years, perhaps forever. It was time. Time to get over his hang-ups.

Still, Steve couldn’t help be uneasy.

He cleared his throat, feeling as if he was facing a firing squad, “I went there the next day you suggested.” He flicked his eyes down the floor and wished he was hiding behind the Captain America’ cowl—the  rasp of the leather on his skin was oddly comfortable, somewhat affirming, even though most of the time he ended sticky with his own sweat—but he hadn’t worn it since . . .  after Siberia. Steve nearly shook his head at his dark thoughts and focused on the conversation. “Truth to be told, I went there next day after you suggested the assignment. I figured that maybe seeing the UN would serve a purpose to . . .  I don’t know, ease my fears?”

Dr. Alloway didn’t look surprised at this revelation. She merely nodded. “You didn’t think  for a long time.”

“I didn’t have to,” Steve admitted. “After you mentioned the UN or their liaisons offices, it was all I could think about.”

“Of what did you think?”

“What they wanted from us. The Avengers,” he added as an afterthought.

She tilted her head with a frown, not quite understanding. “Isn’t that rather obvious?”

“That what I thought of it too, except it took me awhile to realize that while one hundred forty-seven nations wanted to set up a system of accountability for us, the UN is another matter entirely. They’re a different entity on its own who served a middleman between us, the Avengers, and the other countries.” 

“Is that why you went?” Dr. Alloway asked. “Because you think they have another reason regarding your teammates and you?”

“Yes.”

The doctor’s expression didn’t give anything about her thoughts but her voice was, perhaps, a touch of perturbed as she said, “Okay.” She paused for a brief moment and then, “I’m going to shelve that particular line of thought for another time.”

Steve frowned, wondering what she meant by that and he opened his mouth to ask, then closed it promptly when Dr. Alloway regarded at him as if he was specimen under the microscope and it was all Steve could do to keep himself from squirming.

“So,” she began with a pleasant tone, “You went to the United Nations. How was it?”

He relaxed slightly, grateful that it was a question he could answer, even though it gave him a complicated mix of anxiety and gratitude churn in his chest. “It was . . .” He paused, searching for the right word, “. . . interesting.”  

****

Flags. Hundreds of them. It was the first thing Steve noticed when he walked down the First Avenue.  

They were lined on flagpoles, fluttering lazily in the hot wind of summer and Steve never had seen so many vibrant and every bright color imaginable in one place and nearly all of them looked oddly out place with other flags.

Watching the flags was like a déjà vu to Steve, in a lot of ways. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, Steve could almost taste the acrid smoke in his mouth and feel the grime dig in on his face, and he could almost see gloom fill the bombed city before him with thick, heavy, dark grayness. There had been a flag there, hanging on the half-broken statue, dirtied and tattered almost beyond recognition; Steve could see the badly sewn Star of David emblazoned on the center.

He recalled feeling an odd sense of pride back then, in World War II,  when he stared at the six-pointed star. There was nothing but satisfaction in Steve, even at the face of destruction around him, even fascist men who set this society with racial hierarchy who justified this war, this cruelty, the countless deaths and then there was that Star of David flag said one single thing more than words could against those men:

_No._

That tattered flag gave Steve something he never felt before, like having that complete certainty, like knowing the sky was blue or that his mom’s hands were calloused. It was like falling, like flying. It was—this was it. This was why he fought back. This was why he became Captain America.

Now, Steve could almost feel that same sense or feeling as he saw the hundred colorful flags of different nations in one place on the sidewalk and it astounded him that there were so many countries out there, with different sets of culture, different values and a thousand dialects and all were able to overcome their barriers and petty differences to work together for one common goal. This was what he hoped for, to see after the war—if he survived. Peace, unity, just _togetherness._

The United Nations had succeeded where the League of Nations couldn’t.

It made everything he went through, frozen in ice for years, waking in a strange time and enduring it almost worth it. Almost.

Someone on a bicycle came from the opposite direction and barreled onto Steve’s path. He dodged just in time to avoid being clipped by the handlebar.

“Hey! Watch out!” Steve growled, suddenly angry — because he didn’t want to be reminded this is what he had fought for? Being nearly clipped by a cyclist on a sidewalk who had no respect for safety or personal space? The idiot wasn’t even wearing the helmet.

He paused, taken aback by the ferocity of his own thoughts. Steve realized he sounded like those angry veterans he’d seen at one Sam’s group meeting sessions.  

Steve forced himself to exhale, albeit shakily. Inhale. Another exhale. He relaxed slightly, some of the tension leaving his body almost against his will, and Steve resigned himself to feeling embarrassed and out sorts.

He glanced up, past the flags, expecting a heavy and intimidating fortified place—as if to ward off outsiders—but instead he found a rather friendly looking tall-glass building that reflected the blue sky and the clouds above, surrounded by smaller buildings inside the perimeter fence. It nearly reminded him of Stark’s Tower, except without flash and dazzle, and practical enough for a place that promoted global affairs and peacekeeping organization.

At least the security inside was okay, Steve mused to himself as he passed through the security checkpoints after showing his ID, barely getting a glance. Steve couldn’t help but think it could’ve been better as he recalled two incidents of terrorist attacking: one after the fall of Shield, and another, a bombing by superpowered terrorists just when the first Accords were about to be ratified.

The lobby looked surprisingly intact and proud despite the bombing when Steve flicked his gaze around the tessellated glass walls. He couldn’t see where the new structures mingled with the old. In fact, it looked all the same, awash with futuristic touches, littered with impressive artworks and towering trees. Steve would’ve preferred to wander around for a bit longer; however, a deeply accented-voice called his attention.

“Commander Rogers?”

He turned and saw a dark-haired, lean, middle-aged woman staring at him. She was taller than average, nearly beating Steve’s height, and her face was strangely fascinating: sharp jawbones and clean angles with an olive complexion. It should’ve been unappealing, but the shape of her eyebrows and cheekbones prevented it from being so. Instead, it gave her an air of unconventional beauty.

She smiled as she held out her hand, and Steve noted the smile it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m Mara Dalca. I’m sub-director of the UN liaison of the Sokovia Accords. I’m afraid Director Weaver won’t be able to make meet with you today. Instead, I’ll be escorting you around.” She paused as if realizing there was something missing. Then she added, “If you prefer the company.”

Steve blinked, trying to place her accent. If he had to guess, it was somewhere from Baltic Sea, but anything specific, he was at a loss.

“Nice to meet you.” He shook her hand automatically but he couldn’t help but be discomfited by her presence.  Steve summoned a smile, managing to keep on his face but he had a feeling it came off as a grimace, “You know, when I called to see if I could come here, I didn’t expect anyone to show up.”

For some reason, her smile tightened, “We usually don’t,” she stated, glancing somewhere over Steve’s shoulder, “but you’re a special case.”

Steve frowned. “How so?”

Her gaze returned to him. “For one, you’re a newcomer and you’re on the list.” She pulled out a chip badge from her breast-pocket that bore a picture of Steve’s face and his name with UN logo stamped on the center. “Here. This is your badge.”

She said as if it explained everything but Steve didn’t get it, staring at badge with bewilderment. “The list?”

If she was surprised at Steve’s confusion, she didn’t show it. “You’re a member of the Accords,” Mara replied. “It means you have more than public access here—at least anything associated with the Avengers— within reason, of course.”

Dazed, Steve took the badge and a frown formed on his face as he stared at his own smiling picture in his hand. He hadn’t expected this would be this easy and Steve couldn’t help but wonder if there was a catch.  

“I assume you want to start the tour as soon as possible.” Mara gestured to the elevator. “Follow me.”

For a brief second, Steve wanted to say something but followed the woman. He noted Mara moved with the familiar grace he had seen thousand times—languid and balanced yet deceptively rigid—a soldier then, like him.

She even had a face of a soldier—mouth firm, expression calm and uncompromising—not like Peggy, who always had the barest trace of smile curling around her red lips. Steve felt a sharp pang of nostalgia in his chest and he looked away just in time to see elevator’s doors close.

Uncomfortable with the oppressive silence, Steve shuffled his feet for a moment and blurted, “Just out curiosity—” Steve indicated at the badge. “—what does this entail?”

The woman gave him a side-glance look, perhaps gauging his sincerity, and Steve noted her eyes were very gray but extremely dull, her lashes long and dark, and Steve thought of winter sky and Bucky’s dead eyes and felt the familiar guilt return.

“Basically everything.” Somehow, she made the words infuriatingly bland. “You can attend any international or national council or committee and sub-committee meetings that handles a specific duty of the Accords. From there you can see the ins and outs of the system.”

Steve was grateful he was intrigued enough to push the guilt away. “Really?” He asked, “Are you part of the council?”

She shook her head. “No, but I’ve attended most of it.”

“What it’s like?”

She smiled unenthusiastically. “If it’s not an emergency or urgent, then it’s one of the most excruciating and infuriating experiences I’ve gone through. That said, if you’re going to attend it, you’re going have to suck it up, Commander Rogers—because if you have a problem with funding, equipment, treaties, protocols or any numbers of other issues that impact your Avengers’ duties, you’re going to need to come to these meetings. You can even participate to be on one of the sub-committees, which would let you process  complaints, introduce your ideas, inquire into the legal proceedings, or cast your vote, although it takes a while to be appointed.” She paused to stare at Steve. Something in her assessing look made the hair on the back of Steve’s neck rise away from his skin. “But I don’t recommend it.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at her, trying to figure out if he should feel insulted or not.

Regardless, she continued, “If you don’t want to go that road, you could go for developmental assistance or humanitarian aids relief, like Dr. Banner.”

Steve raised both eyebrows, surprised. “Bruce?”

Before Mara could answer, the elevator doors slid open and unsurprisingly, there was someone standing there, waiting for them. A flushed young person—barely in his twenties—holding a clipboard tight to his chest like a shield. His wide eyes took in Steve, blinking rapidly.

Steve felt uncomfortable at the man’s dazed expression, hoping the man before him wasn’t another Captain America fan. It wasn’t that Steve disliked people being star struck and gushing over how they admired him, or worse, thanking him for his service. Quite opposite in fact. It was simply a case of feeling discomfited at the undue attention. It felt undeserved.

Sighing wearily, Mara stepped out the elevator and Steve warily followed one step behind her, “Yes, Mr. Finlay?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” the man stammered, continuously sneaking glances at Steve, “I was just checking if you were—were—”

“I’m fine, as you can see,” she cut in with a fond, albeit exasperated, tone. “Just tell them to butt off.”

“But, Mrs. Dalc—”

“No, Mr. Finlay.” She grabbed his shoulders with both hands and turned him around to one of the corridors. “You have job to do. Now, Scram.” 

The crawling tension responsible for Steve’s stiff posture slowly eased as he watched warily the man disappear around the corner. “Does that happen a lot?”

“Sometimes.” There was a strange tone to her voice that he couldn’t define and he turned to look at her in curiosity.

There was nothing in her expression to indicate anything she was feeling. “So, where were we?”

Steve frowned, sensing something, something important, something in his gut that told him to pay attention. But what was it? Regardless, he couldn’t address it, not when Mara was looking at him expectantly.

“Humanitarian aid relief,” Steve finally answered, almost awkwardly, “You said Bruce had gone that route.”

Thinking of Bruce Banner had brought a complicated mixed feeling in Steve. He still wasn’t sure where he and Bruce stood after all this time. He knew it was bit hypocritical considering he was a member of the Accords, but Steve never would’ve expected, not in a million years, that Bruce would sign the Accords after Infinity War was over, not when Bruce had lot history between himself, Hulk and the military government—none of it good, in fact, most of them were disastrous—and yet Bruce signed it.

It made Steve bit uncomfortable, that he was unable to give protection to Bruce, or the Hulk. Just like he couldn’t protect Wanda or Bucky.

“Dr. Banner is actually doing excellent job about it. He has helped those who are injured or sick in various countries where available medical assistance remains well below the level of need .”

Steve blinked because that sounded familiar. “Didn’t he did those things before he joined Avengers?”

“Yes. Although, it’s a bit different since he now focuses those who were impacted by Thanos’ invasion, which still affects us to this day.”

Steve grimaced, recalling some places all over the world that had been hit so often and repeatedly by Kree armies, almost leaving them inhabited. Some cities have recovered quickly and bore no obvious damages while others, like developing countries, were still in a bad state of disrepair.

“Plus, he has our resources and contributions, which he didn’t have before.”

_Well, that’s something, at least,_ Steve thought wryly. Truly, Steve was glad that for once something had gone right for his old friend, that this time Bruce wasn’t being chased or hiding alone despite a sense of purpose.  

“While his medical expertise is advantageous, health care is not the most successful accomplishment Dr. Banner has recently done.” Surprisingly, Mara’s face softened into something that looked like a pride and fondness, leaving Steve to wonder if they were friends rather acquaintance as he assumed.  Unsurprisingly, Steve didn’t like that thought.

She shook her head, “No, his most successful endeavor is agriculture. Last year, he organized scientists and engineers all around the world to implement digital farm labs available to others—even to the poorest person—in third-world countries that face starvation and famine. It’s slow going, considering that some supplies are harder to obtain or build, but it has reduced about 3.3  percent of starvation worldwide.”

Mara genuinely smiled, her shoulders lowering—Steve hadn’t even noticed that she was tense, to begin with—as she continued on excitedly, “With our task force collaboration, Dr. Banner also used his experiences as Hulk to execute emergency response plan to improve Avengers’ and S.H.I.E.L.D.’s or S.W.O.R.D.’s approach to alien and superpowered attacks in denser populations to reduce damages or civilian deaths.” She paused to eye him curiously. “I’m sure you’ve experienced those protocols firsthand.”

Steve scowled, remembering the five-week grueling mock drills. “You could say that,” he muttered, “but even with those tactics you set up, some death can’t be avoided. Usually, there’s collateral damage.”

She nodded as if she had expected this, “I would say you’re right but that’s a rather defeatist attitude. We know we can’t avoid all death, but we can help minimize or divert it out of the most densely populated areas. We can even contain the damages into one area.”

Steve felt the muscles of his jaw tighten. “By using dome shield, you mean?”

There was a small furrow between her eyebrows but it lasted for a second, cleared away from a quick realization, “Do you mean Stark Orb prototype?” she asked carefully. “The one that creates a ball of energy field? The one that protects you from projectiles outside the field?”

“The very same—except it doesn’t protect us. All does is trap us inside in one place with our enemies.”

It came out a bit harsher than Steve had expected to but to his surprise, Mara smiled at him. Although, there was no warmth in her eyes.

“That’s one point of view,” she said sweetly, and despite the cordial tone, she made it sound like the topic of the conversation was unwelcome. “It’s meant to be used as last resort. You have to remember that it’s a prototype—still in early stages—and should be used as such. It’s being currently modified into a better model, which I’m sure you’ll approve in the end.”

“I doubt it.”

Mara went on as if she hadn’t heard his biting retort. “Besides, with this device, the civilian causality ratio has dropped by one-point-five percent.”

He glared at her. “Is everything a number or statistic for you?”

“Isn’t that how you see the world?” she shot back and Steve opened his mouth to protest but she stopped him with a raised hand, annoyance etched onto her features. “Before you start your spiel, I must point out that your actions have demonstrated that this is the case. Don’t believe me? I have seen and read enough to know that your usual preference of battlefield is around populated areas while ignoring the international and national laws protocols and regulations as evidenced by media and dozens of eyewitness accounts.”

A cold numbness came over Steve, leaving him feeling stranded and untethered. Steve couldn’t help but think of Rick Jones. He was intimately familiar with this feeling—shame and guilt—but he wasn’t ready to back down, his own anger having not abated in the slightest. Instead, it incensed him further, balking at her words, at the heavy sensation being _judged_ by a paper-pushing bureaucrat who couldn’t understand the dangers of being Avenger, regardless of her experience as a soldier. She wasn’t him. She never woke up seventy years later only to find everything he ever has known and loved was gone. Mara never faced hordes of Chitahuri, Ultron’s countless robots, Kree soldiers, and _Thanos_. Mara never felt the crushing pressure of responsibility bear down on her shoulder like he did every single day.

Mara had no right to judge him, not with that comment, especially not for that last disastrous mission which she alluded to. 

“The Golden Gate was an accident and you know it,” Steve all but growled.

Mara stood there for a moment and stared at him in surprise before she narrowed her eyes at him. “I wasn’t referring to that incident,” she stated flatly, “but thank you, you just gave me another perfect example.”

For the longest heartbeat, they glared at each other. It only seemed to continue for a minute more but Steve managed to hold her gaze, despite the silent rage flickering behind her eyes.

Finally, she said with a cool voice, “Do you still want the tour?”  

The question caught Steve off guard, his eyes widening, trying to figure of her motivations. Unsure what else to do, Steve nodded.

“Good.” The woman gave him a somewhat unimpressed look before, “Shall we?” Mara walked—well no, _marched_ —down to the corridor, her sensible heels clicking at the polished floors of the corridors and Steve hesitantly fell to her side for the lack of a better idea.

Steve was aware his cheeks were burning with embarrassment, now that the irritation had left him and he realized he had lost control of his temper and acted like an ass. Just because the woman was out of line, it didn’t mean Steve had the right to stoop down to her level. He was supposed to be above that. Steve was a Commander—head of security of the United Sates—for god’s sake and he needed to start taking responsibility for his temper.

While Steve searched for a topic that wouldn’t set off an emotional minefield between them, Mara halted, looking something ahead of her. Steve lifted his head to look at the source of her attention and found walls that were made entirely of glass few feet from him. Inside, Steve could see it was some kind of open office, filled with a volume of people inside, some moving with extreme urgency with tablets on their hands and others sat at their own computer consoles. At the end of the room, there was a series of dozen plasma screen that took the entire space of a wall.

To Steve, it looked like a cross of Control Room of a NASA and Stark’s Tower workplace with all interactive hologram technology included and it was _enormous._

“What is this?” Steve whispered, awed.

“You could say it’s our base of operation.” Mara informed him and for some strange reason, Steve noted that she pronounced the ‘l’ in 'operation' very clearly. “This is the place where the magic happens.”

Steve craned his head to look at her. “Like what?”

A handful of seconds ticked past, then Mara lifted her finger to point at someone inside the room. “You see this man?”

Steve followed the line of her finger and saw a short, bald-headed, scrawny man inside the room. The man was busy frowning down at the tablet while he chattered someone the other end of his headset. “The one with a white shirt?”

“Yes. This is Tommy Rivera, Disaster Relief Coordinator, who is in charge organizing a relief aid that focuses on superhuman related damages—whether be inhuman, aliens, mutants or enhanced individuals. His team used to work in different departments and non-profit organizations like WHO, OCHA, UNHCR, CARE, Mercy Corps and I could go on but the point is, they’re very competent and their expertise at the face of crisis zones is very helpful indeed.” Her eyes bored into Steve. His expression must’ve required clarification because she said, “What they do is find temporary housings for the newly homeless, coordinate the governments for cooperation, mobilize food, provide clean water, medical supplies, transportation and so on.”

Steve blinked, about to process this information but before he could do that, Mara moved her pointed finger to another man, this time a sharply-dressed man who was talking to a woman in her fifties. “You won’t find Tommy without Ahmed Kader, Head of Recovery Reconstruction. His job consists of obtaining governmental cooperation from other countries or states to figure out who should pay the damages, gauging the level of destruction, and bringing his group of structural engineers.  They specialize in disasters like Japan’s earthquake and Johannesburg and can re-build a demolished a ruined city into bigger and better structures to withstand many possible future disasters.

“The woman chatting with him is Mei Ruan, Head of Emergency Response. She’s OCHA’s liaison, which is here, on the thirteenth floor. ”  Her hand fell back to her side as she frowned before musing aloud, “I think she got the hardest job of anyone in that room. Her job is mostly time sensitive and urgent. Sometimes, during a superhuman attack, she and her teams have to steer the government and local city council to issue a state of emergency or state of alert, either over the entire country or within a specific region, which is a near impossibility when most of the countries prefer to manage their own superhuman crises or a legitimate government may not exist. Then she deploys her international teams at short notice anywhere in the world with the affected or to-be-affected country’s consent to the emergency site to help the evacuation process, work with the local authorities, assist the urban search and rescue, or take care its victims or other emergency occurring in the territory.” She flicked one single eyebrow. “That’s just the basics.”

Steve wanted to whistle, astonished by such incredible feat but he knew Mara was far from finished.

“Over there at the end of the room Michael Winn, Inhuman Relations Specialist and an Inhuman himself.”

“What?” Steve couldn’t help but jerk in surprise. “ _Inhuman_?” And then he winced at his reaction. He knew it was the wrong thing to say and the implication wasn’t lost on Mara because her lips pursed into a tight line.

“Yes, here.” Her voice was flat. “We also have over seventy enhanced individuals working in UN departments all around the world who aren’t Avengers or superheroes, including Hulk, a former Avenger himself for example, if that has slipped your mind. We also have extraterrestrials here—Asgardians and Krylorian—on the sixth and ninth floor. Shall we go downstairs to meet them?” she suggested in her usual sweet voice, one that promised a painful death if he accepted it.

Embarrassment and irritation twisted up inside him and Steve swallowed a biting retort on the tip of his tongue. “I meant no offense,” he said carefully. “I was just surprised.”

It was enough to mollify her and she straightened up. “I apologize,” she groused out, “I was rude.”

“My tone certainly didn’t help matters,” he admitted with chagrin.

She nodded, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Still, that’s no excuse for me to berate you.”

Steve swallowed, unsure what else he should say. He eyed at the inhuman person behind the console and figured that perhaps this was the safest topic to broach. “So, Michael Winn. What he does do?”

It was apparent it was the right question to ask because Mara relaxed slightly. “Ever since the fourth outbreak of Terrigenesis, Mr. Winn has worked to find the newly Inhuman people who are struggling to harness their powers. He helps them to get through their transitions. He has training programs to guide them to control their power and integrate them back into society, slowly, of course.”

“What happens if he’s not lucky with some of them?” Actually, that wasn’t what Steve wanted to say. He wanted to point her out that he remembered the tracking devices on the untrained superpowered people, but he didn’t. Besides, Stark had assured them that practice wasn’t used anymore since the second ratification of the Accords, so the point was moot.

“Well, usually he sends them to the Avenger Institutes since they have better training regimen and has a better ratio of success.”

“But isn’t that for the kids?”

Clearly amused, she shook her head, “Actually, you’re thinking Avenger Academy, which is for children and teenagers. It’s quite different.” She gave a slight shrug, “You’re not the only person who gets one mixed with the other.”

Steve blinked, feeling bit lost. He wasn’t aware there was another Avenger establishment—one for untrained adults. In hindsight, it should’ve been rather obvious, and as an Avenger, shouldn’t he have known that? Worse, as a Commander, wasn’t his responsibility to pay attention to Avengers’ matters?

But it wasn’t too late, Steve desperately thought as he glanced at Mara.

“What happens if someone isn’t inhuman? What happens if it’s something like me or Vision?”

“Then that task falls on Eva Janssen.” Mara indicated with a nod of her head at the white-blonde haired woman behind the console. “She specializes nearly everything, ranging from enhanced individuals to aliens. Basically, the same as Mr. Winn if she encounters enhanced individual struggling with powers.”

“How about people who have a handle on their powers? People who are out there, trying to save someone from others.”

“You mean masked heroes?”

The question made Steve a little uncomfortable but eventually, he nodded.

“Mrs. Janssen would give them the option to sign the Accords, which allows them to continue as they did before, but we would keep tabs on them. Sometimes they have to undergo practice drills with the Avengers’ or UN’s special task force’s guidance to minimize civilian causalities or property damages, and, if needed, they can ask for their local authorities’ backup. Sometimes we ask them to aid us in some cases.”

Steve hung on her every word but wasn’t entirely news for him. Stark had explained this couple times but there were questions Steve never dared to ask aloud, mostly because it was rather uncomfortable to be in same room with a man Steve had lied for years. Out guilt, Steve didn’t press.

But with Mara, he could. “And if they don’t sign it?”

Mara met his eyes again “Then we initiate plan b. Compromise between both parties.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “If they won’t sign in, then masked heroes would need a handler, preferably one who is a member of Accords—but it can be S.H.I.E.L.D. or S.W.O.R.D. or even a law firm specializing in enhanced individuals—who can vouch for them. The handler has to give us a reason why they are allowed to fight crime, investigate, and remain a secret identity without our supervision. The handler must leave an open line of communication between us and the non-signatory, no exceptions. For instance, if something goes sideways, and a civilian got hurt under the non-signatory’s eyes, then the handler must negotiate the terms between police and other authorities and help us to assess the damages.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “In such case, we must send our investigators to see if the handler or the non-signatory had been compromised or corrupted by unknown forces or inexpert on certain matters that could be avoided.” 

It all sounded very reasonable but Steve was still waiting for the shoe to drop. “Daredevil is one of them, right? As the non-signatory?”

“Yes, his handlers are Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz, although Daredevil is rather a special case. All of his handlers have signed the Accords, but are not superheroes themselves, and are entirely unpowered.”

“Huh,” Steve said out loud in mild surprise. He didn’t know someone who was ordinary—who didn’t have any kind of technological-abilities or powers—could sign the Accords. Natasha and Clint had been two of them—non-enhanced individuals—but Steve couldn’t categorize them as ordinary people since they were anything but.

Steve blinked as something occurred him. Had the members of the Panels signed the Accords too? “Do the Accords affect them as they do to us?”

Her expression was clouded with confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Say, if we don’t abide the Accords, we get punished, right?”

Mara stared at him blankly. “Are you asking if they are subjected to the same conditions if they deviate from Accords’ regulations?”

“I guess.”

“At some level, they do,” she replied, her face pensive. “Their handling duties are revoked, effective immediately and they’re restricted to any superheroes events, legalities or anything related. If we find any evidence of misconduct, like the handler has counseled or helped the non-signatory to commit a crime, then they are charged by UN Security and will be prosecuted by international courts.”

He felt his eyebrows work into something that wasn’t quite frown. At some level, it disturbed him and he wasn’t sure why it did. Maybe because the whole thing sounded too cold and authoritarian.  

“Any more questions?” Mara prompted when he didn’t say anything else.

“Uh, yeah, can you tell me more about them?” Steve thumbed at the room.

This earned him a curious face, both eyebrows raising. “Okay,” she agreed, surveying the room before her eyes settled on someone. “In the far-left corner is Abdu Okoye, specializing in research, intel and investigation. His department supervises more than dozen people in the field from every other department in this room. His departments' function is to identify and follow any enhanced individual or technologically-advanced threats to international peace and security. It’s a very crucial job, from which he has to provide all the available information to the Panels and the Security Council to see if any intervention is needed.”

“Like Avengers?” Steve asked, eyes narrowing again.

“Not exactly,” She answered after a moment. “The Avengers and its affiliates are used as last resort when there are no other options available to us.” She gave him a tight smile, her eyes speaking volumes—Steve wasn’t sure why it did in first place.

In hindsight, Steve should have taken her expression as a warning. 

“No. Instead, we send the Enhanced Individuals Crisis Task Force—EICT for short—to evaluate the threat.” Steve noticed Mara’s eyes swept back and forth in the room, perhaps looking for someone while saying, “And I believe you know the leader of the EICT—ah—” She pointed somewhere on the left in the room. “There she is.”

Steve glanced in the direction she pointed and froze when he saw someone he didn’t expect to see here—of all places.

“S-Sharon?” Steve stammered, absolutely poleaxed. “Sharon Carter _works_ here?”

Standing across him was, without doubt, Sharon Carter with a frown on her face as she looked down at the folder in her hands, but it wasn’t the Sharon he had come to know in last seven years. The change was shocking, almost acute. For one, Sharon was strangely wearing a white buttoned up suit-dress instead of her trademark leather jacket, cargo pants, and combat boots. It wasn’t something Steve had expected to find in Sharon’s closet— maybe a pantsuit if a situation required but not like that— and not as quite diverse—even her hair was longer, straighter and toned slightly darker blonde so that it looked almost brown.

“Yes, has been working with us nearly for a year,” Mara confirmed, sounding far away to Steve’s ears “You used to work with her, didn’t you? In the Secret Avengers?”

Worked with her. . .  Steve thought bitterly. As if their relationship could be described like that—former co-workers and nothing else. As if everything they had gone through didn’t matter, just fleeting things.

“We were . . .” _Together._ Steve wanted to say, but that word wasn’t enough to encapsulate everything they were to each other. Instead, he amended, “Yeah, we used to work together.”

Beyond the glass, he could see a strange little smile quirk the corner of Sharon’s mouth, perhaps finding something amusing on the files she read, which made Steve’s heart race. He wished his mouth wasn’t dry or his shoulders tense or that it was less hard to think around her because this was the first time they’d been this close to each other in ages.

Part of him was ecstatic at the sight of her. Steve still loved her although the feeling was mired in disbelief, rage and guilt.

He could almost hear her wavering voice as if she was next to him, the last words she had said before she left with a duffel bag in her hand:

“ _I can’t do this anymore. Us, I mean. Not like this. It’s not worth it.”_ With a shaky breath, she pressed the final nail in the coffin, “ _Not for me.”_

Steve fought to keep his expression impassive as he watched Sharon, even though he wanted to barge into that room and ask _why? Why here?_ or _why did you leave me?_ Even though he knew the answer to that question. Even though he wanted to hug her, scream at her as much he wanted to leave.

“Commander Rogers?”

He blinked and tore his eyes from Sharon to look at the woman standing next to him.

There was an unrecognizable emotion in Mara’s eyes as she asked, “Would you like go inside and meet them?”

Suddenly, Steve finally figured the emotion flickering in her eyes: a good deal of pity mixed in with the uncertainty. With a growing embarrassment, it dawned on Steve that Mara was giving him a way out. Steve wanted to shake her, to make him stop staring like that, but he was also grateful even though it made his skin prickle in shame.

Steve licked his lips, then cleared his throat. “No,” Steve managed, “I’m okay. I think I’ve seen enough here.”

She glanced between Sharon and Steve, back and forth, something shifting in her expression, and it looked oddly like a guilt or pleasure. Steve couldn’t tell. “Very well. Come, there’s more to see around.”

Neither of them seemed to be moving, though, but eventually, Mara did, taking few reluctant steps backward and then turning to head for another corridor, pausing a bit when she looked back to see if he had followed her to find he hadn’t.

At Mara’s questioning expression, Steve turned his head and took one last, long look at Sharon—who was still unaware of Steve’s gaze on her—a felt that familiar feeling again, feeling helpless and guilty and _lost_ , like there were vast canyon stretching between them, leaving him an impossible distance to cross.

He had thought he was past dealing this, that he had moved on, that he had accepted this chapter of his life was over for good.

Apparently not.

With a bitter smile, Steve turned and followed to Mara’s wake.  

******

“You’re right,” Dr. Alloway spoke up after Steve finished regaling his experience at the UN, dragging the words in an infuriating tone Steve had begun to hate ever since he met her, a blend of surprise and intrigue. 

“About what?”

“It _is_ interesting.” 

Steve wanted to sigh in exasperation or roll his eyes or both but he did neither of those things. Instead, he glared at her. 

Unfazed, Dr. Alloway smiled at him. “I’m actually serious.”

“Right,” Steve muttered, almost under his breath.

“What I find it interesting is that you were constantly surprised by the tour.” She paused to brush a stray hair from her face and the action was _normal_ to Steve and yet it disconcerted him. “Care to tell me why is that?”

Steve considered going with his first instincts, which was to change the subject to something more pleasant than diving shark-infested waters. After one look at the doctor’s calm expression, Steve changed his mind.

He decided to be honest. Because, really, what was the point of being in therapy?

“Back then. . .” Steve started hesitantly. “When I was a kid, I sat on the sidewalk outside the barbershop because they had radio loud enough for us to hear baseball game. No matter how hot or cold it was, I was there, listening. One day, the barber opted to listen to the news instead baseball and it was talking the League of Nations.”

“Ah,” the doctor said, intrigued. She looked, somehow, impossibly as if she knew exactly where Steve is going with this.

Steve continued, frowning at the memory, “The host was cheering that the League had refused to let the ‘loser’ countries join them because they were defeated in the Great War, or they didn’t fit the League’s idea of what a country should be, like Russia. I was confused why the radio host was applauding for the League’s mandate, forcing the ex-colonies who wanted the independence back into colonialism.

“I didn’t understand then. I was a kid, you know.” Steve shrugged, “But even as a kid, I knew it was wrong.” He licked his dry lips before smiling fondly. “Then I grew bit older and Mom saved enough money to buy a radio for a present on my birthday.” He could almost feel the thin-arms wrapping around his shoulders and smell her soap-scented skin.

“How old were you?” 

“I just turned thirteen.” He answered, feeling his lips twist into a smile before falling away, “Funny thing is, the moment I turned it on, it was talking about Manchurian Crisis.”

Dr. Alloway’s both eyebrows arched in surprise and for some reason, her expression gave Steve the courage to continue.

“It took me awhile to realize the League was delaying their decision on the conflict between Japan and Chinese and from the expression on my mom’s face, I think she knew. That we were heading for another war.” His lips thinned. “Me? I understood completely how useless the League of Nations was on 7th March, when Hilter marched his troops on the France-occupied territory.”

And for a moment, Steve was there again, in that small kitchen, staring at the newspaper with growing dread, the headlines burning to his mind _:[GERMAN TROOP MARCHES RHINELAND. ](http://l7.alamy.com/zooms/9d194454e2994ac3afcd4f6e756d63ac/1936-evening-standard-german-troops-enter-the-rhineland-h9n2y2.jpg)[PARIS DEMAND LEAGUE TO SEND TROOPS TO ](https://secure-images.rarenewspapers.com/ebayimgs/6.61.2008/image021.jpg)_[_RHINE._](https://secure-images.rarenewspapers.com/ebayimgs/6.61.2008/image021.jpg)

He blinked, coming back to himself to the present and flicked his eyes to the doctor. He found her watching him, waiting. “When I went to the UN. . . I expected them to be more like the League of Nations. Useless.” He scrubbed the back of his neck, sighing. “I felt my fear was pretty much confirmed when I saw Ross as he handed us the Accords.”

“Ross?” Dr. Alloway asked, confused momentarily. “You mean Thaddeus _Ross_? Former Secretary of State?”

“Yes.”

The doctor squinted her eyes at him, “Wasn’t Mr. Ross impeached from his position and then imprisoned for gross overreach of authority as a General and Secretary of State?”

“The very same.”

Dr. Alloway cocked her head, waiting for Steve to elaborate. After moments of silence, she decided to point out, “Wasn’t it the UN who exposed Mr. Ross and brought the charges on him to proper authorities?”

“Under Stark’s and Rhodes’ persuasion,” Steve bit out, tilting his chin defiantly. “I think UN did it just to protect themselves from public outrage.”

“Maybe,” Dr. Alloway allowed but no further. “Do you concede the UN did have the choice to ignore Ross’ actions before or during or after the Accords?  What's more, they could’ve brushed it under the rug to avoid the political fallout after finding out the State of Secretary used unfavorable methods under the Accord’s guise. However, the fact that the UN didn’t ignore or wash their hands of Ross was a sign that they did not approve his actions. They did not defend Ross or anyone who was involved.”

Steve didn’t feel entirely convinced. “I’m aware of this, but it doesn’t change the fact they didn’t stop him from throwing the rest of the Avengers in the Raft.”

Unfazed by the venom in Steve’s voice, she shot back smoothly, “Did the UN know this?”

Steve opened his mouth, then let closed with a huff, his brow drawing together. “No,” Steve admitted reluctantly, remembering the anger, the disgust, the political frenzy to have the Raft destroyed immediately. “It became clear that Ross was doing it behind the UN's back.”

“I see.”

The silence stretched out between them as Dr. Alloway studied Steve for a moment. Steve refused to look away from her scrutiny, meeting her assessing gaze unflinchingly.

“Commander Rogers, do you realize you view everything negatively or with extreme suspicion?”  Dr. Alloway said bluntly.   

This caught him so completely off guard that Steve did a double-take. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that you have a rigid approach which doesn’t allow you to perceive anyone without negative connotation or, as you said a couple of times, ‘agendas’. What worries me is that you don’t regard others in a positive association, or you are unable to understand their choices when they differ from yours.”

“Not all of them,” Steve disagreed adamantly, feeling the indignation rise to burn across the nape of his neck. “Besides, this . . .  ‘approach’ has saved my skin coupla time.”

“That may be, but answer me this, Commander Rogers: have you sustained any long-lasting relationships—whether they be romantic or platonic—aside from Captain Barnes?”

“Sam,” Steve answered easily. “And . . .” He felt himself pause, and took a fortifying breath as he added, “Nat.”

“When is the last time you have talked Sam?”

“It must’ve been . . .” He trailed off, his eyes shifting around as he thought things through. Steve blinked, his mouth open as he realized aloud. “It can’t be. It been months?” 

She made a contemplative noise. “The last time you talked to Sam, was personal or business?”

Swallowing painfully, Steve guessed where this was going but not wanting to be right. “Business.”

“What about other Avengers?” she asked very carefully. “Have you done anything or gone out with them under a non-professional setting?”

“It’s been awhile,” he admitted.

“Why?”

The question hung in the room uncomfortably and Steve felt as if a chord had struck somewhere with him, his mind offering reasons why. Ever since with the breakup with Sharon, Steve had buried himself mission after mission, post-battle business to attend to, debriefs, intel to follow and an overabundance of paperwork. Before Steve quite knew what was happening, years had gone by. 

Sam and Bucky must’ve noticed because lately they’d been trying to coax Steve for drinks, for Avengers’ bashed or family dinners, but Steve preferred to keep himself busy, rather than catching up with his friends or even having a moment to himself just to relax.

To say his life revolved around work was depressing was an understatement, which in turn left Steve wondering how the hell it had happened.

“I . . .” Steve stared at the woman. “I don’t know.” 

*****

One moment, James was dreaming that he was sewing the sideband of an elaborate hat and then the next, he was wide-eyed awake, alarmed. In an instant, he grabbed the gun under the pillow, turned the safety off and moved off the bed. The night still loomed outside the window. James glanced the digital clock that read 3:57 a.m. He wasn’t sure what woke him up but the atmosphere told him something was off. 

He left his bedroom cautiously, leveling the gun in the darkness as he peered through the corner. The gloom of the darkness was relieved by the soft glow of blue light seeping across the threshold of the living room. Once he stepped inside, James found the place looked the same as the last time he saw it. He glanced at the laptop, the source of light, and next to it was a pile of files still sitting on the coffee table in disarray; then he surveyed the surroundings.

Nothing was out order, and yet, something was different. Or . . . would soon be?

James moved toward the window, eyes drawn to the dark outlines of the green grass poking over the rolling hill and the shadowed meadow beyond the garage, barely lit by the glow of the moon.  He tilted his head, picking up on a sound so low and familiar enough to pinpoint.

He frowned. “Tony?”

Sure enough, the roar of repulsor grew louder, but not loud enough to wake up his neighbors. In fact, it if weren’t for his super-hearing, James wouldn’t have heard it. 

James followed the noise toward the staircase at the end of the room, opening the roof-access door. It was cool outside and he took a moment to stare above the skies, looking for the familiar glow of repulsor. He found a gleam of gold and black armor standing few feet away at the far-left corner of the rooftop, one boot propped on the ledge.

“Did something happen?” James asked. He wanted to strip Tony down and look him over, make sure Tony wasn’t bleeding, scarred, or broken inside the armor, but James remained where he stood, no matter how much tempted he was. Tony wasn’t _his_ to touch. 

Iron Man jerked around, startled, and James found it weird since he was supposed to be the jumpy one than the other way around.

“What?” Tony’s filtered voice asked but when James’ words registered, he nodded. “Oh, right. I’m okay. Everyone’s okay. Everything’s peachy for an Avengers’ night.”

“You say as if it’s bad thing.”

Iron Man shrugged. “It is when you need a good distraction.” He glanced around. “By the way, how did you manage to dismantle S.P.O.T.?”

James blinked at the sudden question, though it wasn’t entirely unexpected. He'd grown accustomed Tony’s acrobatic verbal form of conversation without as much as a pause.

“Spot?” James frowned. “You mean one of those thingamajigs you set up to spy on me?”

Iron Man made a wounded sound. “Thingamaj—” He cut himself in mock outrage. “You old decrepit bastard. I’ll have you know it’s called Simply Protecting Our Troublemaker—”

“Your acronyms still suck.”

“—and _no_ , it’s not spying. I’ll say again for the millionth time, it’s a home security system.”

“ _Riiiigh_ t.” James fought to restrain his smile and instead he gave Iron Man his famous stink-eye. “A dozen mobile tiniest drones I hafta seen—about the size of a button—with cloaking technology fluttering around me _is_ for my safety, is that what you’re sayin’?”

“Yes,” Iron Man said with complete aplomb.

It was such bald-faced lie and they both knew it. This time James didn’t bother to hide his grin and his chuckle, something warm and homey settled in his chest, happy because this wasn’t awkward. This was familiar, old as time and _theirs_. 

If anyone nearly a decade ago had ever suggested that James would be standing here, talking and enjoying Tony Stark’s presence, he would’ve driven them straight to a psychiatric ward for a checkup. But here James was, late at night with the man whom now he considered one of his best friends, nearly beating Steve’s friendship department.

These days, though, James spent more of his time with Tony than he did with Steve. In part, it was because James and Steve were busy with their duties and more often than not, missions took them to the other side of the world and almost never in same time zone. Ironically, ever since Tony took over the Mighty Avengers, Tony barely spent his time on Earth but James saw Tony more than Steve, mostly because Tony and James found themselves paired on several cases where the Mighty Avengers and the New Avengers had overlapping interests and common enemies That didn't happen so much with the Secret Avengers who often dealt in secrecy and shadows.

Truth be told, James preferred to spent his time with Tony because they genuinely enjoyed same things—which was waging month-long prank wars, sneaking out, often baiting each other to complete ridiculous challenges and getting creative because they were—to quote Sam—five-years-old inside with no sense of control.

And this was one such challenge. Well, sort of. It didn’t exactly start that way. And yes, Tony can tease James about it all he wants, but James was glad it happened that way.

Back in the beginning when James moved here and Tony had set up security systems in James’ house as he usually did with other Avenger’s with their permission. Unfortunately, around that time, James had been fifty shades of paranoid and hadn’t considered the ramifications until he realized he was easily startled when he heard the silent (to normal human hearing) buzz, hum, beep or crackle from every appliance or anything remotely electronic. Even the fucking security pinhole cameras were _noisy._

It didn’t help when, one night after James woke from a bad nightmare, adrenaline in high gear, every noise was multiplied like locust swarm in the wind, nearly deafening James’ ears. In the end, he couldn’t take it anymore. He tore everything apart to bare bones and wires, including Tony’s biometric sensors, which triggered the alarm in Stark’s tower.

James was _this_ _close_ in tearing off his own bionic arm—unable to handle another  whir, or the soft clack when the metal plates shuffled when he moved— only to be stopped just in time when Iron Man barged through the sunroof, sending a rain of glass and metal all over the place, landing right front of James with a loud thud. James blinked, stared at the glow of Iron Man’s eyes slit until the faceplate popped open to reveal a worried face as he stared down at the carnage of circuits, wires and debris scattered all around the floor.

As he stood there, back ramrod straight, James had expected a scolding, an argument of breaking thousand dollars equipment. He expected derision, scorn, disappointment. Instead, Tony finally looked up from the mess and fixed James’ eyes with a calculating stare and said: “Challenge Accepted.”

And, just like that, it was _on_.

That had been four years ago, and the challenge never stopped or completed. If he was being honest, James hoped it never would.

Iron Man’s electronic voice snapped James’s mind back to the present. “I thought it would’ve stumped you for months.”

James blinked first, processing the words. Then he snorted, crossing his arms over his bare chest to stave off the evening cold. “It almost did. Cloaking device? Really? Bit devious, even for ya.” He scowled at the memory. “I thought I was imaging things when I saw it.”

Iron Man gave an electronic titter. “I thought it would.”

James grinned like an idiot, but still, there was a question that nagged him in the back of his mind and he had to ask, “Not that I’m complaining but why're you here?”

Oddly enough, Iron Man didn’t answer it immediately and the silence that followed was deafening. James felt his smile slid off and wondered if he’d said something wrong. He raised his eyebrows when Iron Man’s faceplate clicked open and there was a blankness in Tony’s expression but his eyes told another story. It was bright under the moonlight, lit with some emotion—wait, was that _anger?_

“I need to ask you something—” Tony cut himself off when James started to shiver at the sudden gust of wind that promised the cooler winds of winter, noticing for the first time of James’ current state of wear—or rather, the lack of it except for the boxers. “Actually, on second thought, can we go inside?”

James nodded, letting Tony usher him toward the door as the armor whirred behind them. Instead of feeling the hard planes of the metal fingers on his shoulders, James felt skin and warmth. It was warmer when James stepped inside, listening to Tony close the door behind them. Then they were standing together at the top of the stairs.

James still felt cold, mostly on his left shoulder but it was nothing new since his prosthesis sucked all the heat. It ached like tiny pinpricks crawling all over it but James ignored it in order to look at Tony. 

The genius looked well-rested except for the wild hair, one side flattened and other half raised up in different directions. There was oil smudge on his tank-top but his face and hands were clean, which suggested Tony had been working on something before sleeping somewhere else, probably on the tower’s communal floor or the workshop. When he glanced lower, James had to resist the urge to smirk at the sight of Tony’s pajamas pants, dotted with yellow bright ducks.

Tony must’ve noticed James’ amusement because he retorted sullenly, “Like yours is any better.”

James smirked proudly, nearly flexing his muscles. He glanced down at his underwear, sporting a winking emoticon’s face right at the center of his groin and on the left tight was a white lettering that spelled: _your face or mine?_ “I’ll have you know this was a gift.”

“Johnny?”

Surprised, James raised his eyes and found Tony glancing at him with an amused expression, “Yup. Guess you received something from him too?”

“Mine had Aladdin’s lamp. It said, ‘Rub here’.”  

There was a moment of stunned silence from James then he exploded with laughter, clutching his stomach. “Oh,” James sniggered, “that’s brilliant.”

“Shut up,”  Tony said without any heat, fighting not to smile. “I can’t even imagine what the others got from him.”

“Knowing him, it’s dirtier than ours,” James said, managing to laugh himself out into wheezes.

Tony motioned to the stairs before he lumbered down the steps. “Come on, I’ll make your favorite Irish coffee. It’s the least I could do after I interrupted your beauty sleep.”

“It’s not unwelcome.”

“Good to know,” Tony called few steps below as he moved carefully, his limp pronounced than ever, staggering almost.

James frowned. “You sure nothing happened?”

“Yep.” Tony glanced over his shoulder, shrugging. “I’ve spent too long standing in the same place.”

The former assassin wanted to argue or hug him until the other man felt better. That wasn’t going do either of them any favors and James wisely kept his limbs at his sides and his mouth shut. James wasn’t sure what was worse; the memory of finding Tony in that alien’s place, truly _dead_ —no ifs, no buts—and coming out the other side with his body littered with cumulative damage, Tony’s right leg included. Or that Tony had the option to take the damage away—the pain Tony felt every single day— permanently, but Tony refused to because this wasn’t a weakness for Tony.

It was a reminder _._

At least, with Extremis, Tony could take his pain away temporally but _only_ when he used the Iron Man armor. It was a poor consolation, though, and James repressed an aggrieved sigh.

Tony shuffled into the kitchen. It was a little surreal to see Tony bustle around the kitchen as if it was his own home rather than James’, grabbing the cups without looking before moving to rummage the other cabinet for coffee grounds.

James leaned his back against the refrigerator, watching as Tony fussed with the coffeemaker. “You didn’t really answer my question.”

Tony didn’t pretend to misunderstand, scowling at the coffeemaker as he clicked it on. James had the strangest feeling Tony was angry at him. “I know.”

Tony took a deep breath, glancing around the kitchen as if the answers remained inside the cabinet before snapping his brown eyes to meet James’. “Why you don’t want to date me?”  he blurted out suddenly.

James' mouth fell open, feeling like he’d been sucker punched. “ _What_?” 

“Right, I’m jumping ahead. Sorry.” Tony tugged his hair as if trying to rein himself in. He looked strangely confused, desperate and frustrated. “Give me a minute to make this coherent or at least coherent enough for you.” Tony began to limp back and forth, his sneakers made a squeaking sound across the tiles. “After you told me about your feelings, I’ve noticed you didn’t ask me out.”

“Wait—do you want me to ask you—”

With a negative gesture, Tony interrupted curtly, “No, no, no, no. That’s not the point I wanted to make.” He snapped around on his heel to face James but he didn’t pause his pacing. “Look, when you like a person, you ask them out. It’s the unspoken rule, the social mores, the modern day of the battlefield of romance, blah, blah, blah—”

James blinked, confused. “Um, I’m having trouble following you—”

“I’m getting to it, shush your pretty mouth,” Tony said breezily, which resulted in James gaping at him.  “Where was I? Right, I know you know all of this. You’re no prude or celibate and based on your offhand comments about your pasts, you used to be quite ladies’ man.” His lips thinned and this time the anger was obvious, flashing in his eyes. “But here’s the thing, you didn’t even bother to _try_ with me. Which, from purely objective view, it sucks because it means you gave up long ago, way before when you came to me.”

“I-I—that’s not true.” James frowned at him, feeling strangely offended that Tony was overanalyzing him. It wasn’t that he didn’t expect it—he actually did because it’s _Tony_. But that being said, it still left him feeling like he was under microscope ‘specimen’ being examined, about to be dissected. James floundered for a moment, finishing lamely, “It’s complicated.”

Tony’s feet stopped and studied at him for a long uncomfortable moment. “It is because I’m male?”

He couldn’t help but scoff, “No. Not even close.”

“Then what? It’s because of what you’ve done or what I did?”

James’ breath shook with a shocked painful inhalation, feeling the shame and guilt barrel him in the chest with full force. He bunched his hands into fist, knuckles bright white while the other—the metal one—grated loudly under pressure. “The truth, Tony?”

Tony had the decency to look contrite at James’ expression but he wasn’t about to take his words back, “Truth.”

“You’re right,” James managed to grit out, his voice tight. “It’s what I’ve done. Your parents’ blood is on my hands, but that’s not the only reason. We both nearly killed each other, and you might not admit this, but I’m mostly the main reason the Avengers tore themselves apart .”

“No, James, that was—”

“I know.” His voice was low. “I’m aware it’s was due to Steve’s utter stupidity, your guilt, and the world’s fears. You don’t have to fight on me about that. But one thing we can agree on is that I was the effect behind the cause. Rest of it? Everyone just pushed it up faster.”

Tony’s brow furrowed. “That sounds familiar. Why I’ve heard that one before?”

“’Cause you were the one who said it. Principle of causality, remember?” Tony stared at James in surprise at his impressive recall, but he pushed on, “I know you’ve forgiven me but you can’t say it doesn’t affect us. You know it does.” James saw Tony open his mouth to protest but James interjected before he could, “It _does_.”

The last bit caught Tony off guard, shocked at the vehement insistent in James’ voice.

James felt his exasperation fizzle out like a blown candle. He rubbed his face with his hands, feeling suddenly tired. “Hell, I know there are days you can’t bear to see my face, Tony,” he said wearily, the words catching in his throat as if the admission hurt him.

It was obvious that Tony was struggling for words, opening and closing his mouth and then Tony’s shoulder slumped and gave James his resigned smile, devoid of warmth or joy.

“Okay, I won’t lie to you. Yeah, it does affect us,” Tony admitted after a moment, “But let me ask you this. If you came to me under different circumstances where you didn’t kill my parents and we got off from the start—in fact, pretend I’m not me, I’m someone else. Would you have asked me out?”

James didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

Surprisingly, Tony’s gaze sharpened into a calculating stare which made James’s hairs on his neck rise in alarm.

“Really?” Pure skepticism oozed in Tony’s voice. “ _When_ is the last time you have asked a person out and not the other way around?”

James was taken aback by the question but before he could process it the coffeemaker beeped softly, signaling it was done. Tony’s eyes were immediately drawn at the machine and he limped toward it.

Frowning to himself, James tilted his head as he considered the question.

He hadn’t been on a date in two years.  Before that, it had been mostly casual, one-night stand types, sometimes sporadic friends-with-benefits. Most of them never went past the second or third date. It had been fun and blissfully meaningless but over time, it had sort lost its appeal, and James wasn’t sure why. Sure, James still loved seeing revealing, skin-tight dresses that hugged around a lovely woman’s body, but it never felt real to James. It always left him feeling lonelier than before.

So, he went from wanting fun one-night stands to nothing, looking for something James couldn’t explain, searching for a feeling that didn’t leave him empty inside afterward. For a long time, James worried that maybe he was getting colder inside, back into the recesses of a Winter Soldier’s psyche.

Until Tony.

What was funny was that James had known then, or at least, his subconscious part had recognized all the signs that he cared for Tony more than a friend before his brain caught the memo. All told, it actually took James a year to realize that he was completely _gone_ for Tony.

The man in question walked into James’ line of sight, breaking his reverie. James must’ve been thinking far longer than he realized because Tony handed him a steaming mug with two spoonsful of brown sugar, a dose of Jameson, and heavy cream on the top sprinkled with cinnamon, just the way James liked it.

Almost in a distracted fashion, James accepted the mug but didn’t sip, his appetite suddenly gone, because he was beginning to realize he didn’t like the answer behind that question.

He was aware he was handsome enough to have women hit on him and take their offers, but for some far-too-explicable reason, James never got around to ask someone out. Not once over the course of the years had it occurred to James _this._

So, there he stood, feeling dismayed at the epiphany, staring at Tony. The genius stared back with his Tony-patented-look, the one he used when he saw straight into James’ soul.

Swallowing a lump, James asked, “When did you notice?”

“Awhile.” Tony lowered his eyes as he took a sip of his own coffee. “I think it was around Michelle? Milly?” At James’ puzzled look, Tony elaborated, “The paramedic?”

“Mila?”

The genius snapped his fingers. “That one! Mila, right. Well, I liked her. She made you smile.” Tony remembered with fondness, “I remember being impressed at her for having the balls of steel to ask you out there in the ball.” He had a thoughtful expression on his face. “Later, someone—I don’t remember who—made comment about it. It went like this: _Man, Bucky is lucky he doesn’t have to ask the ladies out, otherwise he’d be celibate as a monk,_ ” Tony mimicked with accurate voice impression that sounded very much like Sam.  James felt his face twist into a scowl.

“And it made me wonder,” Tony continued, his expression growing serious. “I began to pay attention next time because I was worried for you.” Shrugging, he curled both of his hands around the mug in absent fashion. “Later, I figured that was none of my business. Plus, I’m hardly the best person to give you advice when it comes to healthy relationships in any shape or form.”

It made sense but James was still confused. “But you’re here.”

“Because you made it _my_ business.” Tony set the coffee mug on the counter with a loud _clack_ , nearly sloshing his coffee over, eyes flashing with ire and determination. “After you admitted your feelings for me, it was _all_ I could think about it and I was so angry that I could've sworn I was seeing red. Not because of you,” he quickly assured James, seeing his dismayed expression. “I’m not mad that you told me. I’m glad you did. Well, not really, because no one wants to be the one who-who, um—god I’m already making a mess of it, aren’t I?”

With a frustrated noise, Tony resumed his lopsided pacing, back and forth around the island, hands gesturing wildly in the air. “Look, you didn’t ask me out despite the confession and while I won’t deny a small part of me is relieved you didn’t but the rest of me? Pissed.” He stabbed his finger furiously to no one in particular. “And. I. Couldn’t. Understand. Why.”

James swallowed, back rigid, face blank and he braced himself for the worst.

“Then I remembered that comment tonight, after all these years. And it just _clicked_. I finally understood. The reason I was so angry because it meant the strongest and bravest person I've ever known isn’t willing to put himself out there for a _real_ relationship.”

Even bracing for it, James felt as if someone had punched him in his chest. He hadn’t known Tony had felt this way. In a way, it was strange hearing it from Tony’s mouth when there were others who were braver than him. Pepper came to mind, for her unwavering ferocity against the veiled misogyny in the corporate world. Bruce, for coming back home after being hunted for a long time. T’Challa for risking his country to save the entire the world.

Then there was Tony, chest-scarred, emotionally and physically. As if without his volition, James’ eyes flicked down to Tony’s right leg.

Bravest person? James didn’t feel brave. He never had, even long before Hydra, before the war, before everything had turned upside down. 

James looked at his feet, feeling overwhelmed and ashamed.

“It doesn’t have to be me. It can be anyone. Ask someone out. _Try_. It’s worth it, James, even the worst parts, like having your heart broken off.” The waver in Tony’s voice was obvious as it rose. “Best parts? When that someone loves you back despite everything. That you’re enough for him or her. You’re _it_.”

He heard Tony take a deep breath. “I wouldn’t have brought this up if I thought you were happy being alone but I don’t think you are. If you are, then tell me now and I’ll back it off but if not . . .” There was steel in his voice. “I _dare_ you.”

James felt his breath slowly leave him in a shaky exhale. He wanted to accept the challenge. Wanted to tell Tony he was right, that he had been terrified of everything. Of his nightmares where he could still feel the arc reactor under his metallic hand, the light flickering out. Of being with someone who deserved more than the dark stain of his soul because once upon a time, James was nothing but a weapon, a symbol of destruction, but most of all, he was afraid of living.

Perhaps, there was one more reason they called him a ghost story, after all.

James wasn’t one, though, and neither he was dead inside. He wanted to—god, he truly _wanted_ to sometimes, to stop feeling altogether or even just to cease to exist—but it wasn’t happening right now. And that was the most astonishing thing about it all, that even the old part of him that had died when he fell off the train, that place deep inside of him—the place that _Bucky_ could touch—was still pushing him forward, not allowing him to give up and be a ghost.

Finally, James looked up, suddenly shaky and it was the hardest thing to do when he met Tony’s eyes. His heart was pounding in his ears and everything seemed to fall away from James, leaving nothing but Tony standing right there, his cinnamon eyes strangely soft, a contradicting intense expression on his features. It sent James’ heart beat wilder. Instead of feeling fear or anger at being called out, James was moved, rattled down to the bone.  Not once in his life had he expected Tony would _hope_ for James’ happiness. Not once had he expected that Tony thought that James _deserved_ it. 

“Okay,” he said without even thinking. He didn’t know who was even more surprised, himself or Tony.

“Okay?” Tony echoed, his expression somersaulting into different degrees of emotions. “What you mean okay?”

James couldn’t believe he was even considering this. It wasn’t like he never did this. As Tony stated before, he had asked others out a couple of times, but that was the old Bucky Barnes and those memories never felt like _his_. James couldn’t even fathom to describe to someone of how it felt, smelt, touched or thought in those past events.

_This?_ It was different. James could feel and hear his pulse beating fast against his skin, the skin of his right palm damp with sweat, and he was struggling to remember how his lungs worked. He could see Tony. His whiskey eyes, the tiny gold flecks, the complex and intricate textures of his iris.

This felt real. It was more real than anything he ever experienced.

And it terrified him.

But this was _Tony_ , the man who had galaxies spread out in his eyes, a whole universe within. It was everything James wanted and it would be stupid of him not to try.

“Hey, Tony?”

Tony frowned; that little adorable furrow between his eyebrow deepened just a tiny bit before his eyes narrowed into slits, his voice laden with wariness. “Yes?”

“Will you go out with me?”

Tony stared at him in utter disbelief, practically a statue by the end of the last word. James could hear Tony’s breath stutter as if he couldn’t make his lungs work correctly. Tony’s gaze met his, searching his face for something as if trying to gauge if James was serious. It made James straighten his back and maintain his eye contact, hoping that Tony found something in James that he was looking for.

“Wow,” Tony said, almost whispery. “I think this is the first time someone took my advice in a heartbeat that’s not related life or death situation or business.” Tony blinked as if surprised he said it out loud. Actually, between the utter shock on his face, there was pride too, like he had before when James had told Tony he’d successfully tricked Loki.

James tried to smile at Tony but his face felt strained because he’d gone numb with anxiety and fear. He was standing uncomfortably, feeling any moment he might explode with nerves. 

Tony must’ve noticed his expression, because he was suddenly serious, his eyes softening, thoughtful. “Hold that thought,” Tony nearly hesitated, wincing, “because I’m going ask you another question.”

Feeling dismayed and stomach knotting, James opened his mouth to protest, not wanting to deal waiting games right now. “Jesus, Tony—”

“No, seriously,” Tony reassured him quickly. “It’s related to _that_ question. I promise you’ll have your answer soon.”

James stared at him for a long moment and Tony stared back, begging with his eyes as if he wanted James to understand. It almost made him angrier because he _didn’t_ understand at all. Instead, James found himself more curious than angry. He knew he should be more upset for not getting his answer instantly after Tony’s insistence, but he wanted to hear him out.

“Fine.”

“Okay,” Tony said, albeit nervously. James watched as Tony tugged the neckline of his PJ’s as he shuffled awkwardly. It was strangely endearing and James found himself smiling.

“Can I kiss you?”

The air _vanished_ out James’ lungs, his chest contracting rapidly and ears ringing as if someone had actually triggered a bomb nearby and he couldn’t escape the force of the explosion. James blinked rapidly because—did Tony actually say _that_?

“I mean—well, I’m not sure how to say this without offending you but I never looked at you as more than a friend. You know, it’s mostly like: hey, James. What up?” Tony said without inflection as he shuffled again. “And it’s not as if I woke up and realized everything was different and was like: oh. _Hey, James,_ ” he added predatorily at the last sentence, biting his lower lip as he looked at James through his lashes. 

James’s breath was trapped inside his chest, more from  Tony’s intense playboy look than from his words. Luckily for him, the spell broke when Tony’s expression changed into a pensive frown.

“Having said that, I want find out if it could be more and the funny thing is, I can imagine us together.” The furrow between Tony’s eyebrow deepened. “But it never seems real. It’s always hazy and unfocused. That’s the whole problem because you’re standing right in front of me and I can’t see you.”

“And you want to?” James asked hoarsely, unable to believe his own ears. Was he dreaming? “Why?”

Tony looked at him as if he found the question incredibly ridiculous, giving him a perplexed glare. “Because, James,” he began quietly, “aside from Pep and Honey Bear, you’re probably the most important person in my life, and I don’t mean because of what you did as Winter Solider or in the war. I mean in the sense that I’ve met lot assholes in my time and you’re one of them—the _biggest_ —but I still like you. You’re my favorite, actually.”

The silence grew oppressive. James knew that if he didn’t speak now, Tony might take his silence as a no, but James didn’t know what else to say. He was terrified of saying the wrong things, had no idea what the right words might be. Everything he could possibly ask for was dangling just out of reach, and he wasn’t sure what to do.

Since he had nothing to say, James nodded instead.

Tony’s eyes widened just tiny fraction and slowly, very slowly, he took a step closer.  James felt himself panicking. Being this vulnerable petrified him more than anything else when his heart was on the line for the first time in _decades_ and he was trying to trust Tony not to change his mind halfway. This close, James couldn’t decipher the looks in Tony’s eyes. It was clear Tony was nervous, but there was something else James didn’t understand and that scared him as well. 

James’s lungs shuttered when Tony was well inside his personal space, close enough to feel the warmth of his body, close enough to smell the slight faded cologne on Tony’s skin and he was acutely aware of his body beginning to respond just Tony’s proximity.

He couldn’t help but inhale sharply when Tony’s lips brushed over his, ghosting over his, just the slightest contact. Then Tony jerked back, eyes open wide, looking shocked at himself and James felt a wash of disappointment, because that didn’t even come close to a real kiss. Was that it? He wanted—

Surprisingly, Tony curled his fingers through James’ hair, tightening it and James dragged air into his lungs before breath stopped completely. He followed the pressure of Tony’s hand and bent his head as Tony rose to meet him.

This kiss wasn’t chaste or light. This was hesitant, tentative and just close to a fly's eyelash away from shy _._ Tony tugged James’s lips, then brushed with his own, tip of a tongue tracing against it. James made an inarticulate sound. Every sensation was far more intense than it should have been, from the warmth of Tony’s mouth, the scrape of his beard over his skin, the lingering taste of the coffee and the warmth of his body pressed against him, hard planes instead of the soft curves. Kissing Tony felt like a live current running through his body and James shivered, trying to control the surge of emotion. 

“Tony,” James gasped just before Tony slipped his tongue inside. James slid his hand up along Tony’s arms, over his shoulders, one cybernetic hand curling on the nape of Tony’s neck, other slid down to his back and pulled him closer, and finally kissed him back for all he was worth. Tony made a soft, hungry noise and mapped James mouth like he was trying to remember every second of it into memory for future reference as if this was the only chance he might get.

After a lifetime, the kiss gentled into something sweet and playful before Tony pulled back a little, eyes still closed, pressing his forehead against his. James couldn’t take his eyes away from Tony’s mouth, all red and swollen and to say that James was . . . shaken was an understatement.

When Tony opened his brown eyes, glazed over, James realized he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t come out this kiss unaffected. Open, vulnerable, afraid was all there in Tony’s face but it didn’t deter him from giving James a shaky grin, almost timid, saying, “Ask me again.”

James felt as the world has turned upside-down on its axis. He looked at Tony’s face with something akin to awe, and for the first time, he knew Tony wanted him too because Tony was looking at him with the familiar gentleness that James had seen many times before, usually directed to Pepper or Su Yin, only this time, that look was meant for _James_ and no one else. There was something different too in Tony’s expression, accompanied by strange wonder, the likes James had never seen before. It was as if Tony had found something precious. Something infinitely beautiful.

Swallowing past a heavy lump in his throat, James _dared_ again. “Tomorrow—you and me—at seven, in _La Brújula’s_ —”

“Yes.” Tony answered it quickly as if he couldn’t wait one second more.

James felt a smile threaten to break corner of his lips and he laughed breathlessly, “Yes?”

_“Yes_!” Tony laughed, nodding vigorously with unrestrained excitement, leaving James no doubt of his sincerity.  

At Tony’s bright expression, unable to restrain himself, James reached out, brushing along the curve of Tony’s jaw, enjoying the trickle of his beard beneath his fingertips, and delighting in the way Tony shivered in response.  Soft affection filled filling his brown eyes as he beamed at James.

It felt like a dream, suffusing his being with wonder because James had taken a chance but never in million years could he have expected this even after being dared by Tony.

“I just can’t get . . . over this.” Tony echoed his thought aloud, pressing his face closer to James’ hand.

“You and me both,” James rasped, fighting the impulse to close his eyes and kiss Tony again. “Are we really doing this?”

Tony sobered, hooded eyes intent on his. “Yes, James.” As if to show he was serious about this, Tony gripped James’ wrist and lifted his hand to press his mouth to his palm.

James took a staggering breath, trying to summon his willpower. “If we do this,” he began after a moment because he needed to say something else, “it won’t be easy.”

There was an almost unbearable pause at the end of the sentence.  James wasn’t under the delusion that the kiss made everything okay—Maria and Howard were still dead, Steve had lied to Tony and they left him injured all alone in the cold frigid of Siberia, and there was the fact Tony had tried to erase the Winter Soldier from existence—and as result, James too, albeit indirectly—during the Infinity War. Emotional scars might’ve healed, but they still hurt, scabbed over.This would always exist between them.

Tony’s lips twisted into something that tried to be a smile. “I know.”

“You okay with that?”

“When is it ever easy?” Tony shot back.

Flicking his eyes down to their hands, where Tony’s fingers still gripped his wrist. It gave James a comfort to see a physical proof. At a loss for articulate words, James simply said, “Point.”

They both lapsed into silence until Tony took a deep breath and spoke up reluctantly. “I guess I should go.” Tony gave a sidelong glance at the clock on the refrigerator. “It’s getting late.”

Tony made move to let his go of his hand but James tightened his hold, “Want to watch something? A movie?” he proposed, not wanting the night to end. When James saw a slight hesitation in Tony’s face, he rushed in to point out, “I won’t be able to get a wink tonight after everything happened and I’m betting you won’t either.” A touch pleading, he added, “Come on, will ya? Stay.”

Tony huffed a laugh but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Fifth Element?”

“It’s like you’re reading my mind.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled so much with this chapter with Steve’s POV, enough that I banged my head on desk couple times and cursing myself for falling deeper into the hole inside Steve’s headspace—seriously, any other MUC’s character would've been easier. What the hell was I thinking? But I’m happy that I finished this chapter although I dread the next chapter on Steve’s part . . . (whimper). 
> 
> Anyway, some parts are actually true, as seen by the newspaper articles of the beginning WWII and other, like Bruce’s digital farm. It does exist and is put into practice. It’s founded by a company called Open Agriculture and if you’re interested to know more about it, click [here.](https://www.ted.com/talks/caleb_harper_this_computer_will_grow_your_food_in_the_future) Look it up, it’s truly fascinating. Also, the part of UN’s flag is also true and it can be found outside the headquarters in [NY](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/fe/UN_Members_Flags.JPG) and are arranged into alphabetical order. 
> 
> Rick Jones is a character from Marvel Earth-616 and I added him purely for plot purposes and give Steve's character a little depth, or at least I'll attempt to. (Headbanging to desk)
> 
> As for Stark Orb, the idea is inspired by Halo bubble shield, except bigger and not as flexible and extremely rudimentary. Oh, I nearly forgot, this is Beta-read by the awesome [EmuSam.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmuSam/pseuds/EmuSam) And don’t forget to comment, as the saying goes: it’s food for my soul.

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: I'm no shrink or any kind, therefore, I'm no expert but I been at the other side and it gave me lot insight. Hence, Steve in therapy. About time, right? That guy seriously needs it. *Pause* Actually . . . on second thought, all the Avengers members need it. *Shakes head*
> 
> As you probably guessed, Bucky is Captain America and has his own teammates, some old, some new. The world will always need Captain America and the Avengers. Since Steve Rogers is no longer CA, I figured it was time for Bucky to take up the mantle and lead the Avengers, at least in my own version of this world. 
> 
> As for TADASHI, he's another Stark A.I. which I got the idea from [here](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/marvelcinematicuniverse/images/e/ee/FRIDAY_-_A.I_Chip_\(Age_of_Ultron\).png/revision/latest?cb=20160510015933) from the AoU. If you squint, tilt your head to the left, you can find the chip labeled 'TADASHI' on the lower bottom of the image. I looked it up and it seems to reference Tadashi Hamada, a character from a movie called Big Hero 6 and since I'm a big fan of that film, I figured it would be awesome to have something like him as A.I. (Not the baymax A.I., of course). If you haven't seen Big Hero 6, go and watch it. I'm serious. It's so good.
> 
> Just in case: I don't own anything from Big Hero 6 or anything from Marvel Universe.


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